The Art of Forgiveness
by torri.oats
Summary: Olivia Pope embarks on a journey of self-reflection as she seeks to discover her hidden past, and attempts to heal the gaping wounds of a heartbreaking childhood.
1. Chapter 1

Guilt is an interesting thing. The way it can control you. The way it can eat you alive. Destroy you. The way it can make you do things you'd never dream of doing, make you feel things you've never felt, force you to make decisions that you, in your right mind, would never make. It's a powerful thing, guilt, and there is but one antidote, forgiveness.

Olivia Pope has done things, terrible things by her own admission. Her job is to fix people. Fix situations. Fix things that are beyond the control of others. It's something she's always enjoyed, although she didn't know why she was drawn to it for a very long time.

Olivia has always had a strong set of core beliefs. Belief that people, if given the right information, will make the right decision most of the time. Belief that people are innately good and when they go wrong, it's often not because of maliciousness, it is because they feel trapped, or don't think things through, or don't know what else to do. She isn't naïve enough to think that there aren't some bad apples, bad to the core, but they are beyond her help anyway and would never ask for it.

As a child, she was a dreamer. A big dreamer. It was something her parents fostered in her, to believe that she could do or be anything. So, while other kids were outside playing, she was getting lost in the world created by great authors or the visuals created by brilliant Hollywood minds.

She was a child who didn't like Disney. She was a child of Merchant Ivory, losing herself in the worlds of the grief and sorrow of classic characters. Long after the closing credits, she'd sit and think about how she could've fixed the pain of the characters. It was the foundation for what would later become her life's work.

Olivia was thirteen when "the incident" occurred. Dreams of it haunt her to this day. She could see herself dancing as Black Swan, spinning and spinning and not becoming dizzy because she was in her element, ballet and her parents, to her knowledge, were sitting in the audience, rooting for her. As she fell to the ground after her final move, her chest heaved from exhausted and exhilaration, celebration and sadness.

She heard some in the audience who said "No thirteen year old has ever danced it better." She remembers going backstage and her fellow dancers congratulating her for her achievement. She can still see her ballet instructor's face as he moved closer to her. The twisting in her gut as she doubled over in pain, dreading what would come. Something was wrong and she knew it.

His arm went around her shoulder and he whispered something to her. She doesn't remember what he said, but he led her to a quiet place. An office, small, dirty. She remembers the paint stain on the floor that must've been there for years. The smell of sweat and years of neglect waffling through the air. The sound of the chair scraping against the ground as he pulled it out and asked her to have a seat. She did.

She watched his lips as they moved, but she didn't hear his words. It was he who cried on her shoulders. It was she who comforted him. And later, when family friends came to pick her up, it was he who walked her to the car, told her to call if she needed anything.

It wasn't until days later, at the funeral, she understood the words she could not hear. Her mother and father died as they had lived, together. Side-by-side in identical caskets. So peaceful, they looked. If she looked closely, she could see their smiles.

It was a car accident. A truck, the driver never saw them, according to his statement which she would only read years later. They were coming to see her dance lead in "Swan Lake". For as much as she loved her imagination and getting lost in worlds created by others, she loved to dance even more. She'd practiced daily, nightly, and any other time her schedule would allow. She would be the "perfect swan," she told her mother over breakfast the very last time she saw her. The strange thing is, at thirteen, she was the perfect swan. She had a gift of accessing the kind of emotion that was far beyond her years. Of going to a place in her head and simply losing herself and becoming who or what she needed to be.

After the funeral, she did not speak again for five years. Though she lived with friends of her parents, she did not consider their home, her home. Did not consider their food, her food. For as hard as they tried to make her feel at home, she never did. Nor would she for a very, very long time.

Olivia was a broken child. Shattered may be a more accurate word. Not a day passed that she didn't think of them and blame herself. If only she hadn't danced. If only they weren't coming to see her. The guilt, the guilt took away her voice; she became mute as her soul turned dark.

She threw herself into her schoolwork. Her passion for dancing didn't just fade, she cut it off like a dead appendage. Instead, she would focus on school, on getting out as quickly as she could so she could leave the memories behind and try to forget. She hoped she could forget.

But night came. And that's when she was at her worst. A zombie as she forced herself to eat and drink, just enough to survive. She would disappear into her bedroom long after her caretakers bid her goodnight, and there she would sit for hours in silence. It was a cycle, home, homework, eat, drink, goodnight and think.

Sleep did not come easily. She would see them. How they would smile at her for no reason. How they told her over and over they loved her. How they encouraged her to see the beauty in everyone and everything. How they believed she could make the impossible, possible, because she was an extraordinary person. Though she rarely weeped for them, as she was sure it was a sign of weakness, she felt their presence all around.

Her caretakers, Joanne and Don Roberts, were lovely people. Olivia's parents made a pact with them long before their deaths that if anything happened, they would step in and raise her. They had been friends for years and Olivia's mom, Carolyn, had warned them about their very grown up and eccentric child. Said she was brilliant, but could sometimes get lost in her head. That she was willful, and would do whatever she thought was right, and she usually was. That she had a strong moral compass and was giving to a fault. Most importantly, she was the kind of child who needed space to flourish, so when dealing with her, it was best to "let her do her."

Joanne and Don Roberts were taken aback when the topic of who would raise Olivia if a hypothetical situation occurred came up. Carolyn Pope, it was rumored, had a touch of the power. She was in tune with nature, with the world, with her gut. So whenever Joanne and Don thought back to that night, they both knew Carolyn was preparing them for the inevitable.

When Olivia didn't speak the first few nights with them, they chalked it up to shock. They'd simply given her a chalkboard upon which she could write her requests or answer their questions. As nights spanned to weeks and then months, they grew increasingly worried. Yet, they could hear Carolyn's voice to "let her do her", so they did nothing.

Months turned into years and so on, and by year 1, they'd developed a comfortable method of communication. She excelled academically, so when she wrote on her chalkboard that she wanted to go to boarding school, they did not object.

Boarding school was something that was always Carolyn's master plan for Olivia. Not that she wouldn't miss her daughter, but because doors would be opened for her that she never dreamed. She shared her dream for Olivia when she was very young, and every so often, she would mention it as though she was preparing her for the day when her life would change.

It was there that Olivia re-discovered her voice. Her first day actually, when the chalkboard would no longer suffice. When she sat down with Dean Cyrus Beene, who insisted on meeting the young woman who earned a perfect score on her admissions exam.

He'd been warned that she was brilliant, yet challenging. He'd prepared by digging into her background and learning her story. Heartbreaking, yet it was the thing that would bond them forever. He too lost his parents at a young age, something that haunted him for many, many years.

When she was shown into his office, he was struck by the sadness in her eyes. They were big and brown, and expressed a world of emotion. She didn't smile. She carried herself with the confidence of a woman twice her age, and walked with a slight tilt of her shoulders, as though they carried a burden much to heavy.

She looked around his office, taking it all in. Taking mental snapshots. His bookshelves were stocked with political books and classics, with some academic books mixed in. His selection spoke volumes about his goals in life, something not lost on her. Immediately she felt a connection as she loved politics as well. Loved how decisions made at a local, state and national level could impact everyone's life. Loved the theory of democracy, if not its practice.

He'd extended his hand to her, which she gladly accepted, looking him straight in the eyes. Something else she learned from her mother and was reinforced by her father, James.

Cyrus began by congratulating her on her acceptance to such a prestigious school, and gave her the usual talk about how selective the school is and how she's in great company. She would be a magnificent addition. He spoke of presidents past and future who have and will walk the halls of this sacred institution. He told her nothing she didn't already know, but she listened.

He stared at her for the longest time and she stared back, refusing to break eye contact. He took a deep breath and then told her his story. She listened patiently, but he could see the change in her eyes as the brokenness she'd carried in her soul for so long, bubbled to the surface until it overflowed. Tears rolled down her cheeks. He let her grieve. He heard her sobs and the muffled sounds of her voice, "It was my fault. It was my fault."

The guilt, all the years of guilt streamed out of her steadily, like a clown's handkerchief that had no beginning or ending. She grieved for all the yesterdays she had with them, and tomorrows they would never see. Would they be proud of her? She would never know.

As her sobs quieted, Cyrus sat down next to her. Took her hand and reassured her that what happened was not her fault. A different person may have said something spiritual, but that's not who he was or who he would ever be. Instead, he told her that she had an opportunity at this school to be great. That he would be her mentor. They were alike, he said, and they had to stick together.

True to his word, Cyrus was there for her. The nights when she was at her loneliest, she would call him and they'd talk. About politics mostly. Sometimes, about life, but she was so guarded, it was difficult to pry anything out of her.

Even more difficult was getting her to smile. Or have fun. Or engage in any "normal" activity for a person of her age. She was a faculty favorite for her focus, determination and intelligence. She put her head down and did the work. Fun, she thought, was for people who were happy or wanted to be happy. She wanted and deserved neither. When she told this to Cyrus, he wanted to weep for her, but he knew she did not tolerate tears.

There were plenty of boys who liked her. From afar. Whenever they tried to get close the defense mechanisms in the form of an electrified fence, moat and brick wall were on full display. Because she wasn't interested, they determined she must be a lesbian and teased her about it relentlessly. She didn't care. It was merely background noise to her. They deemed her frigid, she deemed herself "too mature" for them.

The Roberts family were ever present. Checking on her weekly. Attending school events and she appreciated their presence. They were especially pleased when she re-discovered her voice, a fact they would never have known had Cyrus not called. They were disappointed, though not upset, that she hadn't called them herself. They'd grown accustomed to her behavior.

The guilt though, it was ever present. Never silent. What she'd learned and no one else knew, was to coexist with it. She let it simmer, not boil. Let it nibble at her.

This life she was living wasn't about her, it was about them. Making choices that would make them proud. Doing things that would make them smile, especially her mother, with whom she shared an unbreakable bond.

So, when she chose Yale, the alma mater of no one in her family, over Harvard, the school both parents attended, it was because she could hear her mother's voice telling her to travel her own road. And when she chose pre-law over medical school, it was her mother's voice telling her she had a gift, a touch of the power, that would serve her clients well. And when she graduated in three years at the top of the class, it was her mother's voice telling her she could do anything if she set her mind to it.

It was her father's voice, however, that she heard when it came to romance, or the potential of romance. Him telling her men could not be trusted with her heart. That relationships, more often than not, were complicated messes that too many people stayed in for convenience and fear. His words telling her men would never fully appreciate her. His intention was never to be mean, but he was a pessimist at his core, a man who acted like the happiest man on earth when he just may have been the saddest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the feedback, follows and favorites. I usually know where I want to take a story but this time, I'm flying by the seat of my pants. Eeks!**

Chapter 2

Yale, in some ways, was very different from her boarding school. In others, it was the same. She was one of a handful of people of color. When people looked at her, though they said nothing, she knew they thought words like "affirmative action", "scholarship", "pity case" and others were the sole reason for her being on that campus.

She was used to that kind of narrow thinking as she wondered to herself how many of them were "legacy" students, or how many had records concealed by well-off parents who could afford to buy their kid out of any trouble. She'd seen the type at boarding school. The type that would sneak around and smoke, drink and do all kinds of drugs, only to have their parents write a nice, big check to the school. Suddenly, their troubles would disappear. She, on the other hand had to prove herself repeatedly.

She knew the deal in the world. Carolyn taught her that. James taught her to find the smartest person in the room, and then proceed to beat them. Outshine them. Outthink them because she had the tools. From her mother she learned patience and how to assimilate. From her father she learned how to block out all negativity and do what she had to do to succeed; she learned to love competition and how to win at all costs. Always.

These years were when Olivia found her unique style. How she could fit in anywhere. Back home, she was known as the mute whose parents died. In boarding school she was known as Cyrus' pet and the nerdy, sad girl who may or may not have been a lesbian with a very cold streak. At Yale, she was known as the great debater, the one who always had the answers, who shone bigger and brighter than any star on campus.

It was there that she met Edison Davis, the son of a Congressman. It wasn't instant physical attraction, or even intellectual attraction, but she admired his confidence. He was someone she could talk to about politics, partially filling the void of Cyrus' absence. He was fun enough. She could laugh with him. He was easy.

What she couldn't do with him was open up. Was be herself, laugh from her heart, cry from her soul. She couldn't share her deepest secrets or greatest wants. To be honest, he didn't seem that interested. What he was interested in was her mind, her ideas about his political future, her beauty which was the topic of many conversations he'd had at the parties he'd insisted they attend. It was natural. She supposed to be with someone like him even if he was boring; they could have a good life together.

The sex, it wasn't great. Nor was it bad. It just was, like so many other things in her life. Adequate. And maybe that was her fault because she never turned her brain off and lived in the moment. There was no excitement, no surprise; it was more of a twice-a-week duty.

The excitement came during other times. Some would say she lived a double life, one with Edison and one with someone else. Two very different men who stimulated her in very different ways, both of whom she cared for deeply. But it wasn't love, it was never love.

His name was Chad. He was one of her secrets. It was loose between them, which was how they both wanted it, but it was passionate. Maybe it had something to do with the secretive nature of their relationship, but there was something about it that made her feel free.

He was a Harvard boy. Someone she'd met randomly at the Yale vs. Harvard football game and maybe they were both a little drunk. Maybe they were both a little curious about the other because neither of them had dated outside their race. What they could not deny was the instant connection between them. It was electric.

They exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses, and weeks went by before he finally contacted her. They were both seeing other people and knew it couldn't go anywhere, but they were drawn to each other. So, they'd kept it completely sexual and it was with him that Olivia learned to completely let go of her inhibitions because he made her feel safe.

It was a relationship they'd continued for many years. Oddly, it helped her relationship with Edison, made those weekly duties more bearable. So, after graduation, when Edison suggested moving to New York, she agreed.

And when he proposed, she accepted. Not because of love. Not because of commitment. She accepted because she didn't know what else to do. She didn't know what she wanted to do with her life. Didn't know where she was going as an individual. It seemed easy. He seemed easy.

As time passed, it became clear they weren't on the same page. They weren't moving as one in the same direction. Her morals were uncompromising while his were all about compromise. She believed in the greater good and even though the universe had wronged her, she believed in making it right of other people. Whereas Edison believed people were puppets, meant to manipulate to get what he wanted. She believed everyone had talents and intelligence, just in different ways. He believed he was always the smartest, best equipped in any room and talked down to people.

The minor crack that was always between them continued to grow in depth and width, until it was unbearable. The kind man was still there, mainly because he saw her as somewhat of an equal, but beneath it was a man whose every move was calculated.

The time for Olivia, though difficult, helped her discover herself. She was practicing law, but it wasn't what she loved. She knew it was a temporary thing for her, just until she figured out the right path for her. During this time, there were plenty of conversations with Cyrus. She'd bounce ideas off of him and eventually, they'd latched onto the idea of her becoming a professional fixer.

It was with that in mind that she planned for her future. A future without Edison. It was her turn to be calculating as she saved money by continuing to share an apartment with him and play the good fiancé. She created her ten year plan and began making her moves.

Edison was none the wiser. As she drifted further away from him, he didn't cling. He didn't try to save their relationship. Too focused, was he, on his goals. So, when she gave him the ring back and said all the right words, the words which she'd written and re-written, and practiced a thousand times, there is no other word to describe his reaction other than shock. He was so shocked, he could say nothing as she grabbed her bags and left without a backwards glance.

Olivia's existence is bisected. There was the time before Fitzgerald Grant, and the time after. Specifically, the very section of her life between leaving Edison and meeting Fitz is blurry. Almost meaningless. There were certain monumental moments, but those were few. There were the occasional conversations with the Roberts family. Mostly, she was alone with her work, her guilt and her drive to make them proud.

There were times when she could control the guilt. Almost. Times when she could forget temporarily, until the guilt washed over her, nearly drowning her more than once. It was strange how that happened, how she could go along and not think about that day for weeks at a time and then, boom, it would hit her all over again.

There were dark days. Very, very dark days. Times when she didn't want to get out of bed. Times when she looked in the mirror and saw a wasted body, a withering mind, a soulless body because she was the cause of their death. Her children, if she had them, would never know their grandparents. Would never see the joy in their eyes when they saw mini-versions of their only child.

And just like that, a conversation with Cyrus, a bright sunny day, she never knew the trigger, she would snap out of it. The demons, if she could be honest with herself, contributed to her nomadic lifestyle. A career as a fixer was not only lucrative, but freeing. Because she could travel and try to outrun them, knowing fully well it was impossible.

She had been in DC for awhile and her spirit was getting restless. She felt the sadness coming for her again. Each day it was getting more and more difficult to put one foot in front of the other. She was in her own world the day the train seemed as though it would never come. She paced up and down the platform, looking at her watch only to see the minute hand hadn't changed. She heard someone talking, not necessarily to her, but talking.

She looked over at the homeless man sitting on the ground, leaning against a pillar. He was filthy. And he reeked. His beard looked as though something could fly out of it at any moment. His hair looked the same. But his eyes, his eyes beckoned her. She reached crouched down to him so she was at eye level. She could see her own reflection of sadness in them.

He repeated what he'd said. And she thanked him, dropping money into his cup. Promising him the next day, coffee would be on her. As she boarded the next train, she couldn't help staring at him. Not with pity, but with the unspoken knowledge that they were the same. And she vowed she would fix him.

That was enough to pull her from her sadness. He became her project. As time passed, she'd see him on the platform, or outside of the subway station and they'd talk. They became friends, very guarded friends. He'd told her his name, Huck, only after several weeks of conversation. Eventually, he told her more of his story, briefly touching on his experience with computers, although he'd insisted he was just good with them, she knew he was closer to the genius side of the spectrum.

For months they continued to talk, have coffee and find solace in the few moments they spent together. They were alike, different sides of the same coin. The bond they'd forged was authentic, based on mutual need for a true friend who understood them.

So, when Cyrus called with a proposition, an intriguing one at that, it was Huck who factored into her decision. Cyrus pitched it as something groundbreaking, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. A challenge of the sort only she could accept and rise to the occasion. The chance to help a true American hero, a politician of the old school variety get elected to the highest office in the land.

She'd kept up with politics. She watched much too closely, having become addicted to CSPAN and the other news networks, craving for any bit of political news. She knew the story of Fitzgerald Grant III, although even as she watched him from afar, she could tell he was unlike his father, Big Gerry, former Governor and Senator from the state of California.

Fitzgerald had something that transcended normal American politics. Where most would become a member of this party or that, and tow the party line; he was one who could shake things up. More liberal in his Republican beliefs, yet remaining conservative from a fiscal standpoint, he seemed poised to redefine the party.

She couldn't stop thinking of the offer to join his campaign. He was behind in the polls, far behind, but she could see where he could gain votes. He could win the independent vote by appealing to both sides of the aisle. He could win women because he was handsome and believed in equality and a woman's right to choose. They could carve out a section of the voting public and target them, wasting no time on older white males who were set in their ways.

The way Cyrus presented it she could run the campaign with little interference from him. It would put her name on the map and if she managed to pull out a victory, she could write her own ticket to the top. It was what she told him she wanted all those years ago and this, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

She talked it over with Huck. Not that she needed his approval, but he was somewhat of a project now. Although she'd offered to let him stay at her place on more than one occasion, he preferred the less civilized streets. She knew, at some point, he would come around, but it had to be on his own timetable.

She thought of her parents. They were staunch Democrats, but the party had somehow lost its way. It had become not the party of the 60s that they spoke lovingly of, but a lighter version of the right wing. But this, this was her chance to be a part of something that could make history. And that, in turn, would make them proud.

She had a habit of taking a piece of paper, drawing a line down the center and listing the pros and cons of every decision. When it came to this, leaving the security of DC to join a less secure campaign, she could think of no downside. A loss would be heartbreaking, but it would still get her name out there. The day-to-day non-stop pacing of her work would keep the demons at bay. It was a win-win situation.

She called Cyrus and accepted his challenge. The next day, she was off to join the campaign in New Hampshire.


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia's life changed the exact moment her eyes connected with Fitz's. It was the moment people live for and too few experience. The instant connection between souls. When you know, you just know without words, without knowing his name or status and really, without caring, knowing he is IT.

And to see that he felt it too, the way his eyes bore into hers, the way his chest rose with the deep breath he took; the way his soul spoke to hers. _Who are you? Where did you come from? How is it that you've seen me for seconds and it's like you've known me forever?_

And hers spoke back to him. Olivia Pope, though she said that aloud. _I came from DC to save you – your campaign. I know you because you know me; we're made for each other._ And knowing that with absolute certainty they would never, ever, experience this kind of "thing" with another human being. It was that powerful, a burning fire that was suddenly given an infinite supply of oxygen.

She was his.

He was hers.

In a moment life was clear. All of her suffering led her to him. All of his suffering led him to her. It would have been perfect had it not been for his complication. That's how she thought of Mellie, a complication. A complication for his campaign, a complication for their – whatever it was at that point.

She tried to resist what she was feeling. But this thing, it was eating away at the layers of defenses that she'd built up and reinforced over the years. With each late night conversation of just getting to know each other, he was breaking through. It left her breathless.

She'd often told him how brilliant she was and it was true, even if she didn't fully believe it. What she did believe, however, was in him. His brilliance. His eloquence. His quest for a better America for all. Such a rare quality, something she and Cyrus had spoken about in depth but really didn't think existed in politics anymore, but he had it. She could listen to him speak for hours about his hopes and dreams, and she could get lost right there in the America he spoke of. The America he – they – would create.

When things turned personal and she shut down, he was patient. Never pushing. He'd just steer the conversation in a different direction knowing when she was ready, she'd talk to him. They just enjoyed the time they had together.

Then, there was the night that changed it all. Changed the dynamic. Changed both of their lives for the better regardless of the consequences. The day they crossed the line.

Fitz sat in the back of the bus alone. It was late, both were tired, but like magnets, they were still drawn to each other. After an emotionally draining day, she was the one to go to him. To sit and talk, and express her condolences for what turned out to be his fictional loss. He looked at her, asking with his lips, begging with his eyes, for her to call him Fitz.

Prior to that night, even with all the conversations, that was the safe barrier they both maintained. Because they knew the moment she called him by his first name, the last barrier would crumble to the ground and they would belong, solely, to each other.

So they knew what was at stake, which is why she hesitated. Which was why she created a mental pro/con list and filled it with meaningless words. It was why she let her mind shred the paper, giving her heart control. And she whispered it. Whispered it with all she had because beneath his name was the unuttered, _I love you. I am yours._

And when their hands touched in their new world, they knew, they both knew where it was going. It may have been a matter of hours, days or months, but there was no denying what they both needed, desired and would have.

The hallway was long and brightly lit, almost like a police interrogation room designed to make you speak and do things you wouldn't ordinarily do. As he wheeled his luggage behind her, and she stopped in front of her door, she could feel his heat.

It was the preverbal fork in the road. Yet, she felt no pull to enter her own room. The pull she felt was toward him, toward a future of them. If guilt had been her best, least desired friend for as long as she could remember, the freedom she felt with him, the love, and the passion; that was the cure. So, she chose him.

That night was air to a desperate woman. Water for someone minutes from dying from dehydration. Life for the walking dead. It was the jolt she needed and the answer to the question she'd asked herself daily: _Is the journey worth it?_

That is how it began.

Guilt, it's strange thing. It makes an appearance at the time it's least wanted. It's the soft knock of an unwanted guest. It becomes louder and louder, demanding to be heard. Eventually, you let it in and then, it attacks until it sucks everything from you. It is a vampire.

Olivia sits in her office staring at the televisions screens, all of which have the same image of her. This is the consequence of her choice that night, to walk down that hallway toward his room. She doesn't regret it. At all. What she does regret is what's happening right now. The fallout. What it's doing to him.

She had been naïve to think Fitz choosing her would make the path easier for them. Not that she thought it would be easy, but she did not expect her name to be leaked. At this point, she doesn't even care who did it. Doesn't matter. It's done. But, she cares about him, how much damage it will do to his legacy.

She is in a weakened state. Is this karma? Is this her penance for the wrong she's done? It began with the deaths of her parents, continued with her affair with Fitz and she cannot even begin to think of all the wrong she's done in the name of her clients.

The walls, they're closing in on her. She's watching the destruction of her life and she's inclined to just let it happen. It's what she deserves, after all. It's what she thinks she deserves.

She watches as her colleagues, Huck, Abby, Harrison and Quinn move around frantically, trying to figure out their next move. She does not participate in her salvation. She is numb.

What will be, will be. That is her state of mind. As her colleagues entered and exited her office, running things by her, asking for guidance, she can say nothing. Because the truth is, she wants the consequences. Because maybe then she could ask for and receive the one thing she's always needed: forgiveness. Not of anyone else, her own forgiveness.

Things seemed so different just a few days ago. Like she could outrun the consequences and come out on top. Fitz chose her. He came to her, sat with her and chose her. There wasn't an ounce of conflict in either of them. It was destiny revealing herself and they were comfortable with that. Happy with it.

And that night when they made love, it was like they were doing it for the first time. Rediscovering each other. Touching the places that, maybe other hands have been, but none made the other feel so alive. It was more than sex. More than the unification of souls. More than a promise of things to come. It was, above all else, two people coming together as one to meet their singular destiny.

The next morning, there wasn't the "pinch" to make sure the other was real, it was with the clearest of eyes, the fullest of hearts that they were finally, finally what they were meant to be: together as one. She could've stayed in bed with him all day, not just making love, just being. Lying together in silence and relishing the feeling of the other's heart, or maybe talking.

But when reality intruded, unlike the past when they would hurriedly gather their clothes and try to put themselves back together, they took their time. Making sure they were perfect. Engaging in the normalcy of morning conversation. The goodbye kiss that wasn't an "I'll see you when we can both sneak away," it was closer to an "I'll see you tonight." And it was okay. They were okay.

How did it fall apart so quickly? It's what she's asked herself. It's what she keeps asking herself as it all seemed to unravel before it really began. There was the missing Cytron card, but that was handled. There was a heart attack, but that was minor. There was the attempted blackmail, but again, handled. There was David.

David was the wild card. David, who played the game better than she could've imagined. David who betrayed them, but eventually came "home". It was his damned recording. The talk of how she broke things, but somehow glued them back together. There was nothing but truth in that. It was just the air that guilt needed to resuscitate it.

At the time, she gave no power to the words. David didn't know her. Her gladiators didn't know her. Fitz, now he knew her and loved her despite the truth. Despite what he knew of the truth. So many nights when he felt her slipping away, he would pull her back with words of love and promises of their future together. He was good, and if someone that good wanted her, then she must be okay. Right?

She cannot pretend Cyrus' words had no effect on her, though they were less powerful than David's. Did she think life was a romance novel? She hoped it was, but with her history, she knew it wasn't. The thing she also realized was that life should be a romance novel, but people get older and there's a sense of responsibility; the dreaminess and belief that anything is possible becomes buried underneath the weight of life.

Even Cyrus' ultimate trump card, his declaration that Fitz murdered Verna, did nothing to dampen her desire to be with Fitz. They were made for each other and still, after Cyrus left, she was willing to go through with her plan.

But, the combination, David, Cyrus, her own guilt, it was too much. The burden too heavy, the weight too much. She had to see Fitz, to try to find the words that would break his heart all over again. It would break hers too. She was fragile and in pain and there was no one to share it with.

She entered his office differently. Wearing something oversized and dark, knowing how much he loves her in white. She let his secretary lead her in, instead of just walking in and making herself comfortable. She had to be her own gladiator to stand there and look him in the face and tell him they couldn't be together. She would have to summon the strength from somewhere.

She didn't want to do it. Not at all. For the first time in her life she glimpsed the possibility of happiness and just like that, it was taken away. And this was going to break her. And she would let it.

As she sits at her desk now, she can't think beyond the entering his office. Not his face. Not his pleas. Nothing.

What she needs to do now is figure out how to fix this, not for her, but for him. How to make sure he is able to save his presidency. Once she does this for him, this one last thing, she will leave. She will give him up once and for all.

Her mind, once so sharp, is failing her. She is in a corner, searching for a way out, but she's boxed in on all sides. There is no solution. There is admission, which makes him look bad. There is denial, which always comes back to haunt the administration. There is avoidance, which can only work for so long. There is the classic subject change, which is probably the best route.

With multiple wars, a deficit problem, the upcoming election and the boxes of dirt she has on Washington's elite, a subject change would be relatively easy. She calls her gladiators into her office, but she does not meet their eyes. They are judging her as she is judging herself.

She tells them after this, after executing her plan, she is going to take a break. They all nod in understanding, but not really understanding at all. She is Olivia Pope; she is invincible. They don't tell her that. Rather, they take notes as she explains to them in great detail, what to leak to the press about a certain potential democratic presidential candidate. She tells them to share her plan with Cyrus Beene, and then gives Harrison his phone number.

When she's finished, she calmly gathers her purse, her computer and her phone, and she leaves OPA for what may be the last time. At least that's how it seems as she looks around, so lost, so broken, and with a final wave, she is gone.


	4. Author's Note

I've read all of your comments and thank you for feedback and follows.

I started writing this story because of two very specific things. The first reason is because of something Olivia said in episode 752 about Huck having sadder eyes than hers. The second is because of a comment Tony Goldwyn made during an interview about Olivia needing to forgive herself. Those two things fascinated me, so much so, a story began to form in my head.

Olivia Pope is a character I never tire of trying to figure out. She's so accomplished and confident in her professional life, yet in her personal life, she is anything but. The public vs. private sides of her are compelling.

I chose to write this story with less dialogue than normal because I imagine a lot of what Olivia says or feels comes from internal dialogue or just her thoughts. I wanted to get inside her head and made the choice not to focus on dialogue right now. That may change down the road.

I also chose to write it this way because it is a challenge to me. I never want to become too comfortable doing anything, and I write dialogue all the time, so this presents a unique opportunity to explore a different type of writing. It's also tough to read, so I understand if some of you find it off-putting.

I'm not sure if I'll finish this because I have no idea where it's going. I do thank you all for going along for the ride.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Olivia walks into her apartment, a zombie. The mask she wears for her gladiators has been long gone, crumbling from her face, piece by piece. She doesn't remember how she got here. Doesn't remember the green lights she went through or the red lights that stopped her or the honking horns; she doesn't remember any of it.

Her phone is off. She is grateful, at this moment, for signing with one of those internet companies for her home phone service which allowed her to activate the "do not disturb" feature, sending all calls directly to her voicemail. She can barely put one foot in front of the other as she feels such an intense pressure in her heart. The pressure to cry. The pressure to scream. The pressure to let it all out.

But she doesn't. That's not who she is. Instead, she slides one foot after the other toward the sofa where she plops down with a heavy sigh. She recalls the words of her psychiatrist, the one she saw as a child. _It's not your fault_. There was more to it than that, a whole explanation about the universe and opportunity and some other words that she didn't believe then and doesn't believe now.

Sometimes, her brilliance is a curse and this is one of them. She's always had a mind that could recall the little things, the big things, everything at the most inopportune times. This time, she closes her eyes and sees herself as the Black Swan, her ballet teacher moving toward her, Cyrus, Edison and finally, Fitz. What she sees is the pain of a lifetime, the results of her decisions.

She doesn't trust herself. She recalls some of her clients, not her successes, the failures. The stories that got out of control. The situations she couldn't fix. Her failures.

She hasn't eaten today. Doesn't think she can keep anything down and she probably can't. Huck used to stand in the doorway of her office, arms behind him, quietly telling her the time; his way of telling her to eat.

Huck. She saved him, didn't she? But no, she gave him a band aid. She opened the floodgates for him, didn't she? After all, he doesn't sleep much anymore. Not since she asked him to do the very thing he was running from. Not since she asked him to find some information and he tortured someone. Again. That whet his appetite and now, she's not even sure he has it under control.

Quinn. She saved her from a lifetime in prison as a result of Cytron. If she hadn't agreed to fix the election, there would have been no need to save Quinn in the first place. Now, she's faced with the possibility that Quinn is now a less controlled version of Huck. Who is she kidding? Quinn is Huck.

Abby. She could say she saved her old college friend from her abusive husband and that would be true. What's also true is she encouraged the relationship. When they were at the bar that one night and she saw the way he looked at Abby and the way she looked at him, she is the one who pushed Abby to introduce herself. And sure, she destroyed his car with a baseball bat, but that didn't make up for all the trips to the hospital, the bruises, the black eyes, the tearing down of her self esteem. And the minute Abby found some semblance of happiness with David Rosen, Olivia had to put an end to it because of what it might do to her.

Harrison. He thinks she saved him. What he doesn't know is she is the reason he was on trial in the first place. It was a situation she was supposed to fix before it got "out of hand". That's what the CEO said, his exact words. She tells herself they waited too long to call her in; it was already "out of hand". But, she knows Harrison was collateral damage. That's why she took the case and worked tirelessly to ensure his freedom.

And then there's Fitz. When she woke up this morning, she had no idea what was coming toward her. As far as she knew, it was a day just like all the others. Nothing to distinguish it. She couldn't have been more than wrong. If only she hadn't taken the job, he would've been fine. But she wanted the change and wanted to be part of something special and the moment she saw him, she was gone. She couldn't resist him forever and she didn't and as a result, she has destroyed him.

She has the opposite of the Midas Touch. All roads lead to her and her decision making. Maybe it's just her fate. She is fated to destroy the people around her. If she were to go in front of a judge to be brought to justice for all of her crimes, the laws she's broken, the people she's broken, how many times would she say "Guilty"?

She shakes off the thoughts and gets up. She looks around her apartment, at the things she's accumulated. This is why she worked so hard, but suddenly it's all meaningless. She's left right back where she was, alone.

It's times like this when she misses Carolyn the most. She still talks to Joanne from time to time, but it's not the same. Olivia never felt like she could be open with her, not because she didn't offer an ear or advice, but because she wasn't her mother. Olivia has been alone for most of her life and she suspects, she will be alone for the rest of it.

She needs a shower. A hot shower to try and wash away some of the feelings that paralyze her. To baptize herself. It's an exercise in futility, she knows, but it will provide temporary respite.

She lies in bed staring at the ceiling. She glances at the clock and realizes that at 7:15, only five minutes has passed since the last time she looked. Minutes used to mean something to her. One minute, it meant the world. Now, time can't tick by fast enough.

A vacation. She needs a vacation. As one of the most recognizable women in the world, it is now an impossibility. Leaving her home unnoticed, is now an impossibility.

It's always been difficult, her life, but she could run from circumstances if necessary. Could disappear and become one of the masses. No more. Her life is not hers anymore and for someone who is so fiercely independent and private, it is her worst nightmare.

She realizes now that Cyrus has likely abandoned her too. Ever since he fulfilled his dream of making it to the White House, there's been a schism between them. Not that he didn't love and respect her, but his "take no prisoners" approach is something she hadn't fully accepted before. But now that he's used his power on her, repeatedly, she sees him for who he really is.

And what's sad is on a day like this is when she needs her friend the most. Just to cry on his shoulder because he would understand. Not the depth of her love for Fitz, but the depth of her guilt. But the man whom she saw in her office last night, was not a man who could be that shoulder. Could not be that ear. Could not be that friend that she needs so desperately.

It's 7:20 and each minute seems like an hour. When her doorbell rings, she doesn't answer. When the knocking begins, she tries to ignore it. When the door opens, she doesn't even flinch.

In the distance, she hears her name being called, but she doesn't respond. Something about leaving it on the table. The door closes. And she is alone again with just her runaway thoughts keeping her company.

Thinking it ridiculous to just lie there, unable to sleep, unable to think of anything other than the mess she's made of her life, she slowly makes her way toward the living room. She is smacked in the face by the aroma of her favorite Thai dishes from her favorite restaurant.

It was his accidental discovery. One of those late nights when he just wanted to get out, leave the Oval Office behind and do something a regular person would do. He spotted the sign, which was barely visible in the night, and made his driver pull over. After it was checked by Secret Service, he went inside and greeted a room full of surprised patrons.

It was a "man of the people" moment, where he shook hands and smiled, genuinely, and listened closely to their stories. It wasn't the fanciest place and the people he met, they were real. They suffered and he listened. They told him what they thought he could do to ease the suffering of so many and he took their words to heart. Added some of their concerns to his agenda. He laughed with them, cried with them and it was one of the few times outside of being with Olivia, that he felt alive.

When he told her about the restaurant and that evening, she joked that maybe they should go there on a date. The next thing she knew, there was a car at her apartment and she was driven to the restaurant. Entered through the back door. And there he was, waiting for her in a pair of jeans and a Navy sweatshirt. He'd never been more handsome.

It was one of the best nights of her life. Just the two of them, sans their regular armor and just regular, relaxed clothing, being a normal couple. Talking to each other. Feeding each other. Teasing. Kissing. She never wanted it to end and neither did he. For three glorious hours they were allowed to just be with each other. It was a precious gift.

So there, on her coffee table, in multiple bags, was her exact order from that night. She remembers how she felt like a pig that night for sampling so many things, and he'd simply said she looked absolutely beautiful. Wow.

There's a plain envelope with her name written on the front. The handwriting she recognizes immediately. She picks up the envelope and turns it around in her hand a few times, as though she doesn't quite believe it's real.

She takes her time sliding her finger beneath the flap. His tongue has been here, she thinks. It makes her long for his presence even more. He is gone. They are done. Even as the words cross her mind, she can't allow herself to believe them.

There's a single slip of paper inside.

Olivia,

_I am so sorry. We will make it through this. The two of us, we're indestructible. Know that if I could, I would be there with you right now. I know you're beating yourself up about this, but do not. You are the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and I will move mountains to get to you. Guilt will get us nowhere. Know that I chose you then and I will always choose you. We will be together again and I will continue to love and take care of you from afar._

_I love you._

_Fitz _

She traces some of the letters with her fingertips. She always loved his handwriting. It's why, she suspects, he'd written so many letters to her over the years. They are her most cherished possessions.

Morning comes and she still has not been to sleep. Not because she hasn't tried. She has. It's just that whenever she closes her eyes she can hear her mother's voice telling her to always try to do the right thing. Try is the word that tripped her up in her dreams.

Carolyn was a moral woman as Olivia remembers her. Spent a lot of time in church. Spoke of values and morals. Told Olivia to follow the compass, not the heart. It was strange advice to give to a child, but she never questioned it until today.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Olivia's mother, Carolyn, was a bit of an enigma. While she doted on her only child, Olivia knew there was a side of her she never saw. As though she was only half present and for Olivia, that was enough.

As she grew older, Olivia grew more curious about the woman whom she'd known for too few years. She tried investigating on her own, but there was only so far she could get. She was deemed a child, too fragile to know anything more than the surface stuff, so everyone whom she spoke with eventually erected a brick wall she could not penetrate. Yes, Carolyn was loving and generous, but no one ever said much more. Nothing more than others thought she could handle.

As Olivia lies in bed this morning, staring at the ceiling, she thinks of her mother. And the secrets she knows she kept. She doesn't know why today, of all days, she feels the need to open that old wound to discover who Carolyn was. Maybe it's the sense of being lost, of not knowing who she is or where she's going that's giving her that old familiar inch of wanting to know more about where she came from.

Her mind races a million miles a minute, firing off question after question to herself, none of which can she answer. Not knowing her grandparents on either side. Not knowing of any aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Not knowing what her parents were like outside of the masks they wore for her. As she expects, her doorbell rings. Not her telephones, as she has not had the courage to turn them back on. She waits for the knocks, and then the entry. She knows how this will go everyday, three times a day.

She hears someone calling her name in the distance. The sound of bags being maneuvered about. The door closing upon their exit.

She pulls herself out of bed and walks into her living room. There's a bag with her favorite breakfast foods. This is Fitz. A note.

_Livvy:_

_I love you. I miss you._

_Fitz _

She retrieves the toasted bagel with just the hint of cream cheese. She bites into it and closes her eyes, savoring the moment. Bagels, to her, are an indulgence, one she allows every once in awhile.

She continues nibbling on the bagel as she boots up her laptop. She glances at the blinking light next to her telephone, sighing loudly as she thinks of the number of voicemails she must have. She turns away and looks for something to do while she waits. She goes into her kitchen, which she's never used, to make herself a cup of tea. Just a little something to distract her from her own thoughts.

When she returns to her computer, she glances at the e-mail icon and looks at the big "1341" staring at her. The number of unread e-mails. All unopened. She wonders to herself if things will ever return to normal as she shakes her head in response.

She needs this distraction, her mother and all that remains unknown. Before, when she was investigating, she did so as a teenager who hadn't fully understood how to research her subject. Things were different then, the internet was in its infancy.

She begins composing an e-mail to Huck.

_Huck,_

_Dig up all you can on Carolyn Pope. Upload all documents to our place._

_Liv_

Fitz had always encouraged her to get to know about her past. Know her parents and even though she only had them for a few years, it may provide some kind of closure. Or clarity. But, he never pushed. Let her come to her decision on her own.

She smiles to herself; he really has no idea the effect he's had on her life. He would always says she was everything and what she gave him meant the world, not even considering that he did and was the same things for her.

Every second that ticks by feels like hours to Olivia. She looks around her already spotless apartment for things to do. Things to clean. Organizing to do. Anything to that can serve as a distraction, if only temporarily.

She imagines the major networks haven't moved on to the next big story. Her fingers tap against her thigh, a nervous action she developed years ago. She looks at her fingernails in desperate need of a manicure. It's too bad, she thinks, she didn't take the time to develop more friendships. This is a time she could use a friend.

She lives a lonely existence filled with work and not much of anything else. It was by design but as she sits alone in her apartment, she thinks maybe she should've done some things differently. Maybe taken a little time to bond with other people. Her "friends" now are work-based, or information based, the strength of which is determined by how much dirt she has on them.

Her doorbell rings. She doesn't want to answer it. Doesn't want to let the outside world in. Not yet. She looks at her watch; it's too soon for her next meal. She gets up and drags her feet to the door, where she takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what may be on the other side.

She looks through the peephole. It is a sight she so desperately wanted to see, but was too afraid to make the call, to prideful to ask. She swings the door open and smiles for the first time since the news broke. Joanne Roberts opens her arms and Olivia walks into her embrace, letting the older woman hold her.

Joanne Roberts is unlike Olivia's mother. Where Carolyn Pope was tall and thin, a formidable looking woman whose legs went on for days, Joanne was short, round and possessed the kindest face one could ever hope to see. Where Carolyn had long, flowing locks, sometimes aided by the occasional weave, Joanne wore her hair in a short afro, naturally gray.

She rocks Olivia back and forth, patting her on the back the way she did so many years ago. Olivia pulls away, searching Joanne's eyes for any sign of judgement or disappointment; all she sees is love. Olivia steps to the side, grabbing Joanne's luggage and leading her inside.

"How are you?" Joanne asks, looking around Olivia's apartment as she sits down.

"I've been better," Olivia answers honestly, leaving the luggage by the sofa as she sits next to Joanne. "I'm so glad you're here. I didn't want to call, didn't want to bother you with this mess."

"Olivia, you're never a bother. You know when you need us – me – I'm here." Olivia sees the quick flash of pain that crosses Joanne's face.

Don died the year before. Not entirely unexpected. For Joanne, it was devastating. They'd been together for more than 40 years and each day is a struggle. Even now, even after so much time has passed.

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how disappointed in me are you?"

"I'm not disappointed in you. I know you. This isn't something you would've jumped in to. I know if you had an affair with the President, it meant something to you. You've never been an impulsive person and love, it's a strange thing. The way it can sneak up on you and when it's right, you can't resist it no matter how much you try." Joanne takes Olivia's hands in hers, "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me. I'm here for you no matter what."

Joanne's always been like this. Patient. Nonjudgemental. Discreet. She was the perfect match for her husband, taken from her far too soon.

"How long can you stay?"

"Just for the night, but you know I'm always a phone call away."

And with that, Olivia hops off the sofa. "Let me show you to your room." Joanne follows Olivia down the narrow hallway, proudly taking in every detail of the apartment. She always knew Olivia would find success in life. This apartment, her space, is quiet, understated, classy, just like the woman who lives there.

The day goes by quickly. Meals are delivered. Notes are left. The last of which, includes food for two. She's being watched. In the past, before their reconciliation, Olivia hated being followed. She knew every move she made was being reported to Fitz. This time, it's oddly comforting, making her feel closer to him.

Joanne doesn't ask questions, which doesn't mean her face doesn't tell what she's feeling. A sly grin here, a knowing look there. She tries her best to not intrude, to give Olivia her space, while letting her know she's there for her.

Olivia sits next to her on the sofa, the way she did when she was younger, leaning her head on her shoulder. It's a something she did rarely. "How bad is it?" Olivia asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"It's the media telling the story that'll get the most views."

Olivia nods, knowing it must really be bad if she couldn't get a straight answer from the straightest shooter she knows. "Tell me about my mom."

"She was a great mother to you, a good wife-"

"I'm talking about who she was really. Everyone always painted this perfect picture of her, but sometimes, she felt so distant. I know she loved me, but there was something else going on." Olivia lifts her head to look Joanne in the eyes.

Joanne shifts somewhat uncomfortably. Her mouth twitches just a bit. And she smiles, trying to reassure Olivia but the uncharacteristic involuntary movements give her away. "I don't know what else you want to know. She was who she was."

Meant to pacify Olivia, this did nothing more than pique her curiosity. She has dozens of questions to ask Joanne, but she knows how it works with her.

It's never an immediate outpouring of secrets. It's a gradual thing. A slip up here and there, the silent battle between what to tell and what to leave out, finally, release. Joanne has always been the one to tell the truth, but it takes time, something Olivia has plenty of.

Joanne stretches and yawns loudly. "Do you mind if we finish this tomorrow?" Nodding her head toward the television. She and Olivia spent the evening watching old romantic comedies.

Olivia picks up the remote and pauses _Notting Hill_. "Not at all. Let me know if you need anything."

"I sure will." Joanne kisses Olivia on the top of her head, pausing for a brief moment as though she wants to say something. She doesn't. She turns and disappears down the hallway.

Olivia listens for the closing of the bedroom door before turning her attention to her computer. She fights the urge check the news sites, or even open an e-mail. Instead, she navigates to a secure website Huck set up long ago to upload secret documents. Within a few clicks, she sees the folder labeled "Carolyn Pope".

The first document she sees is general background information. Name, date of birth, social security number, things like that. Information she already has.

The second document is an overview of her educational background. Also, information she's collected over the years.

She impatiently opens document after document, neatly labeled and organized, filled with information she already has. Huck is nothing if not thorough, and his work is helping form a complete picture of the woman known as Carolyn Pope.

Olivia begins going through the financial documents and there is where she notices an irregularity. Not something that's really irregular, but a monthly deposit in Carolyn's saving's account. It causes her to sit up a little straighter because this is new. This is information she couldn't have gotten just a few years back.

She sees the amount gradually increase over the years, always deposited at the same time each month. She immediately composes an e-mail to Huck asking him to dig further into Carolyn's financial connections, paying particular attention to these deposits. Within seconds, she receives a reply assuring her that he's "on it".

She continues looking through the documents and is surprised to come across a detailed description of Carolyn's past boyfriends, what they did then and what they do now. Huck amazes her sometimes, and scares her at others with his ability to find even the most obscure facts about someone's life.

As she reads and scrolls, everything is normal. No red flags. Until she sees the boyfriend two years before her birth. Her eyes widen and heart skips a beat. She gasps as she sees the name, Rowan, without a last name, staring back at her.


	7. Chapter 6

**Thank you all for continuing to read. I'm trying to mix a little happiness in there too every now and then. **

Chapter 6

Rowan's name had come up occasionally during Olivia's work in Washington. She knows he works in the intelligence community in some obscure capacity that requires top clearance. Beyond that, there are only a series of question marks. She starts to write Huck back, but she sees the words "To Be Continued" at the bottom of the document so she leaves it alone.

Olivia spends most of her evening reading and thinking. Reading about her mother. Thinking about the missing years. Reminiscing.

She can hear their laughter as she made her way toward the park's entrance. She looks over her shoulder at them and smiles with the innocence of a child living in a cocoon. She is happy.

Carolyn is wearing a long, flowery dress that dances with the gusty wind. The brown, flat sandals tied neatly around her ankles, give her a carefree look, something she never was in Washington. Her hair is curly and wild, uncontrolled, in direct contrast to the woman. Lipstick is darker than usual and she looks more beautiful than ever.

James is tall. His mustache always neatly trimmed. His dark brown eyes take in everything around him, though he never says much. He wears gray slacks with a cream colored shirt neatly tucked in. He is handsome and commanding in presence, drawing the attention of more than one woman as he passes them by with a glance.

They are the perfect couple and this is a perfect moment, a snapshot in time when everything was perfect.

"Come on!" Young Olivia exclaims as she rushes inside the park and looks around with wonder. It's magical with the endless sea of green and people, so many people reading or running or bicycling; so many people enjoying nature.

Her skips turned into a full run. "Be careful Olivia," Carolyn says as she laughs at the daughter who's usually stoically unimpressed by nearly everything.

"Daddy, will you buy me a balloon?" Olivia gives him the look, the look she knows he can't resist. The one that breaks his heart every single time. She smiles as she sees him reaching into his pocket. Before she knows it, two balloons, one red and one yellow are in her hands, flying high above them all.

It's her family during simple times. God, she misses them. She often dreams of what could have been, what should have been. She shakes her head, as though that will clear her mind of the memories

She powers down her computer and picks up the dishes she and Joanne used earlier. She takes them into the kitchen and drops them in the sink. They can keep until tomorrow.

Olivia's dreams are peaceful, the most peaceful they've been in days. There's no tossing and turning. No groans. No sounds of distress. No sweating. Just peace. And joy.

It was her thirty-third birthday. Her only plan was to spend it at home alone with a big bowl of popcorn and an over-priced bottle of wine. As her day wound down, Tom, the top Secret Service Agent assigned to protect the President appeared in her doorway.

"Tom."

"Ms. Pope."

"What can I do for you today?"

"The President asked me to pick you up," he says, giving her a broad, knowing smile.

A part of her is actually giddy, a word she wouldn't normally use to describe herself. She's always hated surprises, but when it comes to Fitz, he somehow always knows what she needs. She stares at Tom, knowing he's not going to reveal much, if anything, to her. "Can you at least tell me if I'm dressed appropriately?"

"Yes, you are." And with that, they're off.

One car and a helicopter ride later, they arrive at Camp David. He's waiting for her, hand extended, smile on his face. She touches his hand and almost jerks it back. The sensation too powerful. It is electrifying. Although they haven't been on the best of terms, everything, in this moment, is forgotten. He pulls her into the warmest embrace she's ever felt. It is everything.

"Happy birthday," he whispers in her ear.

"Thank you." They cling to each other longer than necessary because who knows when they'll have another moment like this. They close their eyes, feeling the life that runs from one body to the other and back; they life they give each other.

Finally, he pulls away. "I have something to show you." He takes her by her hand and instead of leading her into the main house, as she expects, he takes her to the lake. The lake where they've spent some amazing days and nights.

She freezes when she sees the candles. There must be hundreds of them, forming a path leading to a blanket and picnic basket. She practically hops over to the blanket, then remembers she's an adult and slows. He stands back, watching her, smiling.

She is at a loss. Here, at Camp David, surrounded by candles with the most powerful man in the world, she is just Livvy. Imperfect, messy, Livvy, and she is his. She turns to extend a hand to him, which he gladly accepts, pulling him in for a kiss, soul to soul. There is no beginning or ending, it's just the two of them speaking volumes through each touch, each caress, each moan.

"Come on, I don't want the food to get cold," he says.

He opens the picnic basket and the scent of food fills the air. He pulls out container after container of her favorites, everything from that salad she loved so much when they were at his favorite restaurant in Santa Barbara, to the lobster that made her mouth water in Maine; there was nothing she could want that he doesn't have.

"I can't believe you did all this!"

"Why not? You deserve it."

She resists the urge to ask about Mellie or his children or Cyrus. Tonight is for them. As the full moon rises to its peak, he gives her a look, raising his eyebrow as though he's about to issue a dare.

"What?"

He starts undressing. "Fitz, what are you doing? We can't do that here."

"Maybe you can't, but I can and I will," and with that he steps into the lake, baring his bottom to her. He turns around and smiles at her, which is all the encouragement she needs.

Within seconds, her clothing is off and she's joining him in the water. It is a carefree moment between them, one of the few they've had. They splash each other and laugh and kiss under the full moon.

For a moment he stops and stares at her. She knows what he's thinking because she's thinking the same. This is the way it could be if things were different, if circumstances hadn't gotten in their way; this is the way it should be.

When they emerge from what water, hands roaming, they take their time drying each other off. It's a warm night, so neither is anxious to put their clothes back on. They sit in the blanket, comfortable with their nudity. Comfortable being together.

"I have something for you," he says almost shyly. She sees the uncertainty in his eyes and the nervousness, something that she's always found so attractive. He pulls out a small box from the picnic basket.

"You didn't have to get me anything," she says as she reaching for the box.

It's a Tiffany blue box with a white ribbon. She nearly squeals with delight knowing nothing bad comes from a Tiffany box. "This is too much." There's not much conviction in her voice, just excitement.

"It's not much…just…I saw it and thought of you."

She opens the box carefully, as though it may burn her and she peeks inside.

"It won't bite you," he jokes, licking his lips, a nervous gesture he'd picked up over the years.

She gasps. Inside, there's a small ring. Dainty. Gold. There's nothing fancy about it. It's simple and beautiful and reminds her of the quiet times they have. The times when no words are spoken, when they are content to be together in the same space, breathing the same air. The times like tonight.

Olivia sits straight up, sweat pouring from her brow. She can't bear to go back there, to that place of bliss now that it's all fallen apart. She looks at her index finger, starts to smile as she twists her ring, but stops herself.

This is her fault. If she had been stronger, or less vulnerable, or less stupid, she wouldn't be in this mess. More importantly, he wouldn't be in this mess. But she bit from the apple and now they are all paying the consequences.

She pats into her bathroom and turns on the faucet, splashing her face with cold water. She looks into the mirror and sees a woman whose face she no longer recognizes. Her eyes are red-rimmed, puffy and show the weight she's been carrying for so long.

She dries her face and turns off the light as she leaves the bathroom. Fully awake, she turns on her cell phone. A mistake, she knows, but she can't keep sitting around avoiding the inevitable. Almost immediately it starts ringing. She looks at the display and smiles.

"Hi."

"Hi." And they take a moment to just breathe, wishing each was with the other. "I'm so sorry," he says, voice cracking. What he's not sorry about is the revelation that he's been unfaithful. He is upset that her name has been revealed. That her world has been turned upside down through no fault of her own.

The pattern with them is when things start getting really good between them, when they can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, something happens and the world around them comes crashing down. Yet, each time they survive and somehow find solace in each other. They become stronger together, more powerful through each test.

"Don't be sorry." And she means it. It's always been them against the world. The thing about them, and their relationship, is when they're together, they can literally face and defeat anything. And if they can't, if they don't, they still have each other. "You know you shouldn't be calling me."

"I know, but I miss you and I love you, and I'm worried about you."

"We always knew this was a possibility. I'm more worried about you." She walks into her kitchen and starts doing dishes. "What's the reaction been like on the Hill?"

"Can we not talk about that right now? I have people working on it. Let's just be us. Let's talk about us."

If there's one thing she both loves and hates about their new dynamic it's his reliance on someone else to fix things. While she likes his newfound confidence, she hates being locked out. It's for her, for their relationship because as well as they work together, sometimes the lines get blurred and her judgment is clouded. It's for the best, but she hates feeling useless.

"Who's staying with you?"

Olivia never told him about the Roberts family. She was always vague when it came to her past, but he knows her parents died when she was very young. He knows little beyond that. She considers how much she should reveal to him because opening that door would cause him to ask more questions, questions she's not sure she's ready to answer.

"Liv?"

"It's someone from my past." When he says nothing in response, she knows she has to tell him more. "She helped raise me after my parents died."

"I'm glad you're not alone."

"Me too."

And they continue talking until the sun began to rise. She swears she dozed off a couple of times, and he did too as she could hear his light snoring in the background.

"I should let you go," Olivia says as she yawns and stretches.

"Olivia?"

"Yes?"

"We're going to make it through this. I promise. And we will be together. Openly."

"I know." She hesitates. "Bye."

"Bye."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

One day blends into the next and so on. Before she knows it, a week has passed. Gradually, she's rejoining the land of the living. Checking e-mail here, turning on her cell phone permanently, and then her home phone. The television, first court shows, then an hour of news a day, and so on until life is somewhat normal, although in her world, the word "normal" is relative.

For the most part, Olivia and Joanne have co-existed peacefully, although her stay was extended from one night to several. It's become more like a vacation than a circus-induced hiatus. Olivia is getting antsy though, and misses the everyday pace and challenge of working.

Through it all, her mind hasn't been idle. In fact, it's been anything but. Huck's research into her parents' background has yielded interesting results to say the least. As she paces back and forth in circles, she thinks of what he's found and how it all fits together in the portrait that is her life.

Olivia Pope, born in 1977 in Washington, DC. That much is true. Beyond that, there are many, many questions, beginning with the months leading up to her conception.

The story she'd heard was love at first sight. At a party, one filled with Washington insiders and diplomats, they spotted each other across a crowded room. He, wearing a tuxedo that hugged all the right places along his well-fit form, glided across the floor, drawn to her by the smile that seemed to light the entire room.

He was a smooth talker. Deep voice. Perfect diction. Hands large and smooth. Clean, manicured fingernails. He asked her to dance. How could she resist?

Her hand fit in his perfect, and their bodies molded together as though they were made for each other. The story goes, they danced the night away as the rest of the room disappeared.

They went home together that night and spent every night for the rest of their lives together. It was a love story, Olivia was told. As close to Cinderella and Prince Charming as one could get.

They were well-matched with his job at the State Department and hers at the Justice Department; they were formidable. Talking into the early morning hours about politics. There were whispers that in a few years, he would be considered for Secretary of Defense, and she, she could someday be a Supreme Court Justice.

On paper, this was a match made in heaven. There were no cracks, not on the surface at least. It was what Olivia knew of her parents as a child, only reinforced by the adults around her long after their death.

As Huck searched for the truth, she learned there was no love at first sight. No match made in heaven. Much of it was an illusion. It was a marriage that was politically expedient, a means to an end.

Both were very ambitious people who had dreams of being a power player in Washington. Though neither had political aspirations, they wanted to be players, wanted to own their piece of Washington. Know where the bodies were buried and they played the game expertly.

Olivia was their pride and joy. She was loved by them. She was also a pawn in their game. She learned there was someone else. For Carolyn.

It began in 1970, when she first moved to Washington. So young at 22, learning to navigate the political landscape, she met someone. Said he was a military man. Which he was. Said he had aspirations. Someday, he wanted to be Secretary of Defense. Although he was more hawkish than she, she admired his ambition.

Theirs was a passionate love. A can't-breathe-without-each-other kind of love. Though he was gone for long stretches of time, whenever he returned, they picked up right where they left off. They were in love.

There was talk of marriage. Discussions of what the rest of their lives, together, would be. Talk of children. Raising a family and being as normal as they could be.

As one year turned into two and the into five, they seemed to be stuck. She wanted to get married, wanted to stop talking and start doing, but there was always one more mission or one more thing that took precedence over their relationship.

In 1976, he started slipping away from her. Though the love was still there, it was the ambition that got in their way. It was the whispers in his ear that he needed someone who was more of a background player to be his wife. She was too vocal. Too opinionated. Women didn't belong on the front lines of Washington politics.

He'd tried to tactfully discuss these things with her. Urged her to just take a step back and think about them. She would counter his argument by suggesting he step back. And the passion that always existed turned into anger. And the fights more frequent. Finally, they had no choice but to end it.

It is weeks later when she learns of her pregnancy, and a mad dash to find a suitable husband. There was a party, but it wasn't an instant, across-the-room connection. It was an set up. An introduction. Two people who liked each other enough. A matching of resumes and an agreement.

Olivia shares none of this with Joanne, whom, she suspects, already knew the real story. Instead, she keeps it to herself and continues putting the puzzle together.

She stops in her tracks as she distances herself from the story she's pieced together and takes it all in. The life she knew, obliterated within the past week. Now, she learns, her childhood, everything she thought she knew about her parents is a lie. She falls to the bed and puts her head in her hands.

She wants to cry, although she's not sure if it's the loss of life as she knew it, or the house of lies upon which her life is built, but she wants to, needs to cry. But, she doesn't. Instead, she straightens her clothes, stiffens her back as she stands, and leaves the room.

"I'm going to the office," she informs Joanne, who seems startled by the sound of her voice.

Joanne looks at Olivia, searches her eyes and sees a flicker of sadness. "You okay?"

"I just need to get to the office."

"Do you need me to go with you?"

"No. Thank you." She grabs her purse and jacket, then leaves.

The last time Olivia took the elevator to the lobby, she was in a good mood. It was a beautiful morning and she was going for a run. It was supposed to be easy, just a few miles and back. She never made that run. Never made it out of her building because once she saw all the reporters, heard the questions they were shouting at her, she ran back inside into the protective walls of her apartment.

This time will be different. She will notice the odd looks from neighbors. She will listen for their snickers. Or the names they will whisper under their breath. She will notice it all and respond accordingly.

She's thankful that she has the elevator to herself. Gives her a little more time to gather her thoughts, to check the armor one more time, make sure everything's in place. When the elevator dings for the last time and the doors open to the lobby, she hesitates before getting off.

She scans the lobby. Looks every person in their eyes. Most look away. Some turn to others and they whisper things back and forth. There is so much judgement being passed which only deepens her resolve.

She struts as though she owns the building. As though they should be bowing down to her. The confidence she exudes, as false as it may be, acts like a repellant. They don't dare say anything to her face. Most turn too quickly, ashamed by what they've said about her.

She has a swagger, and with each step she slips further into her Olivia Pope costume. There's nothing they can do to hurt her. Their words mean nothing to her. She is invincible and walks just like it.

She reaches the older black man who sits near the door and he nods at her. "All clear today, Ms. Pope."

She smiles at him, silently wondering why he didn't say anything when there were reporters surrounding her building. This time, he even gets up and opens the door for her, tipping his hat. "Thank you," she says, as she exits, stepping into the waiting sedan.

Olivia steps off the elevator at Pope and Associates and breathes a sigh of relief. Quinn rushes toward her carrying a mug of tea. She gives it to Olivia. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." And then she's gone.

Olivia's not sure what she expected, but this isn't it. Huck, sitting in his office, hovering over multiple computer screens. Harrison, sitting in his office, feet propped up on his desk, thinking. Quinn and Abbey, in the conference room, sipping coffee. It's too quiet. Eerily so.

She walks into her office and looks around. Nothing's been touched. She easily slips back into her routine. Putting her purse in the armoire. Booting up her computer. Turning on all the television screens. Scrolling through her e-mail and realizing none of it is new case related. She sighs heavily as she looks around at her gladiators, all waiting for her, waiting for her guidance.

She leaves her office and yells, "Okay everybody, conference room."

They all jump to attention. Huck breaks out of his haze and he and Harrison nearly collide as they try to beat each other to the conference room. Olivia stands at the head of the table, looking at them all. Trying to come up with something to say on the spot.

She stands in front of them a bundle of emotion. These are people who counted on her and she let them down. Their futures are inextricably linked to her fortunes so they deserve the truth.

"So, let me have it." Olivia sits at the head of the table, waiting for the questions to start coming, rapid fire.

They all look at each other, waiting for someone to break the silence. "Fine, I'll go first. How long?"

It doesn't surprise her to hear Abby's voice. What does surprise her is the gentleness of her tone. The silent understanding. "Nearly four years now."

Abby nods. She wants to hate Olivia for ruining all of their lives. She wants to hate her for her hypocrisy. Wants to hate her for being stupid when it comes to love. Olivia can have any man she wants, hell she had a United States Senator chasing after her for years after they'd broken up. Yet, she chose to be with someone who isn't hers to have.

For as long as Abby's known Olivia, their friendship dating back to law school, she wasn't the sentimental type. She wanted nothing to do with a relationship because, she said, men have a way of distracting you. Knowing Olivia the way she does, it must be love and not just any type of love that comes in and out of your life in the form of different bodies over a period of years, it must be something deeper.

Quinn, perhaps the one who knows Olivia the least, can see the toll it's taken on her. She wishes she could be harsh, but Olivia saved her and judging from the way Olivia can keep a secret, Quinn would never know the personal sacrifice that was made to secure her freedom. Yet, Citron and election rigging are tied closely together. With the destruction of the memory card, there's no jeopardy in asking Olivia for the whole story. "Is that why you rigged the election? To help your boyfriend?"

"It's not as simple as you think. I've never talked about it."

Harrison jumps in, "You don't have to tell us about it." He is met by the death stare of Quinn, which scares him. "What? She doesn't."

"No, I do have to tell you about it. Those days leading up to the election were crazy. He and I were together then, yes, but that's not why I did it." She stands and starts pacing, never wanting to relive that night. She takes a deep breath as she stops, and continues. "We were looking at the numbers three times a day and it came down to one county in Ohio. We could tell by the demographic makeup there was no way we could pull it out. We poured our resources into Ohio, trying to figure out a way to make up that gap and there was no way, mathematically, we could do it. So, unless there was some huge polling error, which, believe me, we tried to find, he was going to lose."

Olivia returns to her chair as the memories come back to her, along with the feelings of helplessness and despair. She'd never felt anything like that before, or since.

"Fitz didn't know. He still thought he had a chance and for days, his campaign staff and I, we tried-"

"Who was involved?" Quinn asks.

"Hollis Doyle, Verna Thornton, Cyrus Beene and Mellie. Hollis said he could rig the voting machines in the county-"

"That's where Jesse came in?"

"Yes. And they were all onboard. For days they pressured me because it had to be unanimous and I struggled with it. I fought with myself and I refused to give them the go ahead. I couldn't do it. But then, at his dad's funeral, he told me how badly he wanted this and I truly thought he was the best person to run the country. It was the weight of everything. The pressure of them. The belief I had in him. It all converged and that last night, I let Cyrus push all of my buttons and finally, I relented. I'm not blaming anyone because ultimately, it was my okay that put everything in motion. And I don't regret him becoming president because I still believe in him."

Olivia speaks with such conviction, there is no longer any doubt of whether she did the right thing. They've never heard that kind of certainty coming from her and for the first time, they truly understand the pain she went through making that decision. The underlying resentment that had been hanging over that office like the darkest of clouds, is suddenly lifted.

"Oh, so nobody else wants to ask?"

Olivia, knowing Abby so well, knows exactly what's going through her mind. "I don't know what's going on with Fitz and me. I just want him to be able to weather this storm." Her voice gets a little softer. "I'll be fine." It's unconvincing.

No one asks about the biggest elephant in the room. What's going to happen to OPA? How are they going to rebuild her reputation? Where will they go from here.

Harrison stops flipping his phone and walks to the other side of the table, to the wall of windows they've always used to post evidence in their cases. "Our new client, is an old client."

Olivia cocks her head to the side and raises her eyebrows.

"Olivia Pope." He sticks a picture of her on a window then looks at her.

"Harrison-"

"Olivia, you are our client, so let us do our job."


	9. Chapter 8

**I don't always thank you, but I really appreciate the favorites, follows and reviews. It means a lot.**

Chapter 8

Olivia listens as her life is dissected. Harrison once asked her what her end game was, and she let the question hang in the air, falling to the ground, unanswered. Over the past few days, she's had time to think about the answer to that question.

She's never been the selfish type, always putting the needs of others in front of her own. Putting everyone else's happiness thinking she is somehow unworthy. If there's anything positive a crisis brings, it's clarity. It's honesty. And if she's honest, she'll say her end game is Fitz. Preserving his administration is a part of it too, but ultimately, after that's gone, she wants him. Wants what their life could be, will be. Her, continuing to fix. Him, changing the world one good deed at a time, a post-Presidency career that mirrors William Jefferson Clinton's.

"We need to go back further." It's the first time Olivia's voice has been heard in nearly an hour. They were brainstorming and insisted they needed no help from her. She's the client, after all.

"Liv?"

"We need to start at the beginning. This isn't just about how you 'handle' me from here – Huck's been helping me research my parents. That's where I want to start because I need to know about my past. Huck can give you access to everything he's come up with so far. I'm too close, and I'm losing objectivity. I can't afford to do that again."

Huck nods, then leaves the room, returning to his office, where he keeps digging.

Huck is the most devoted of gladiators. He thinks of Olivia as his savior, the person who saw him when no one else could. He was garbage, sitting on a train platform, filthy, reeking of musk and alcohol and rot, and she stopped. Crouched down to his level. Didn't hold her breath or move backwards in an effort to keep from touching him. She didn't avoid his eyes. Quite the contrary, she saw him. And that first day, when she noticed him, he knew his life would get better.

Their friendship, during those early days, wasn't easy. He was unreachable. She'd stop whenever she saw him and offered him a cup of coffee. She had to build a level of trust with him. When most people would've given up, she kept trying. Trying to get him to talk. Trying to get him to open up.

It began with small reveals. Nothing about his family. Never about his family. Things like his military background, that he would talk about. Not much. But just enough. A little about his talent when it came to computers.

After awhile, it was more in depth information. Like his addiction. That life caused him to lose everything. She was always a kind ear who never made him feel bad about himself or anything less than human.

She saved him and now it is his personal mission to save her. He goes back to digging in her past, adding what he can to the emerging portrait of the woman.

In the conference room, Abby, Quinn and Harrison brainstorm about how to proceed with Olivia. The ding of the elevator provides a welcome distraction for Olivia, who's tired of listening to people talk about her like she's not even sitting there.

She meets Tom halfway as he walks toward her, carrying a bag of food. "Follow me," she says, leading him to her office. She closes the door behind them and motions for him to sit in a chair across from her desk. She stands on the other side, trying to look more intimidating. "What's going on at the White House?"

"I don't know what you mean, m'am." He shifts a little in his seat, having always been a bit afraid of Olivia.

"I mean is it coming apart at the seams? Are people resigning? What are the whispers and don't insult my intelligence by pretending you have no idea what I'm talking about."

He sighs. "There have been some resignations. I really can't say how this is going to turn out. The whispers are impeachment or resignation-"

"For what? This isn't an impeachable offense. Nor is it grounds for his resignation. What are the party leaders saying."

"Jockeying for position. I really don't have much information. You could call Mr. Beene."

"I don't think he wants to hear from me right now."

God help me, Tom thinks, before the words spill out of his mouth. "I overheard Mr. Beene saying more than once that he needed you on this case." He stands, "Now, m'am, I have to get back to the White House."

Olivia nods. "Tom, thank you and please, thank him for me."

"I will."

As day turns to night, Olivia can't even think of calling it a day. She's not tired. She doesn't want to go home and be in that apartment watching time slowly tick away.

What she wants to do is call him, see how he's doing, ask if there's anything he needs her to do. She wonders how thcy are going to move forward. If he really is getting a divorce, can they be together in plain sight?

She looks out and sees everyone working for her. To make her life better, to help her learn about her past. This is a team she built, a team of loyal gladiators who are the closest thing she has to family now.

Quinn and Abby read through all the material Huck has gathered, adding to it the information they've uncovered. "What do you think's going to happen?"

"I don't know. I say she dump is ass since he obviously can't keep his mouth shut, and find somebody else. But that's just me." Abby shrugs. "But she's not going to do that. She's going to stand by his side and try to fix things."

"Why are you so cynical? Some things are worth the sacrifice."

"You're being naïve, Quinn. He had a choice, he didn't have to confirm anything."

"So then what? Deny her? You're just bitter, Abby."

Harrison walks in, interrupting their back-and-forth. "Hey, hey, no talking about our client behind her back. We need to fix this for her. We need to find out about her background, because she asked us, and we need to save her career, because she needs us and we need her."

Abby and Quinn look at Harrison, somewhat ashamed by their gossipy outburst.

"Now, what have you got?"

Abby grabs a picture of Rowan and sticks it next to Olivia's picture on the window. "Looks like there may be a little skeleton rattling away in Olivia's closet. We think this is her real father, not James Pope. Seems they met after Carolyn Pope was pregnant. A shotgun wedding was hastily arranged, and Olivia was born to the Popes, a fake match made in heaven."

"Quinn?"

"Right, so, he paid child support until Olivia was eighteen. She went off to college and he sent the money directly to Joanne and Don Roberts-"

"Wait, who are they?"

"Sorry, after Olivia's parents died-"

"Quinn, I think you're going to have to go back to the beginning." Harrison sits down across from Abby and Quinn, and waits for Quinn to resume.

"Okay, so Olivia's parents were killed in a car accident."

"We need the how, why, when and where."

"Huck's working on it. Anyway, she was raised by Joanne and Don Roberts. After her parents died, child support payments went to them. Even after she was of age, he sent money which they sent to her in college."

"That's the juicy stuff. I'm working on the not-so-juicy stuff," Abby says with a roll of her eyes.

Harrison stands and buttons his jacket, smoothing his collar. "Keep me posted."

Harrison makes his way to Huck's office where he stands in the doorway before entering. Assessing. Assessing Huck's mood. Calculating whether to enter now, or wait for Huck to come to him.

Harrison didn't "get" Huck the first time they met. Which isn't unusual because most people don't get Huck at all. Besides the smell, unruly hair and limited vocabulary, there was a creep factor. One which made Harrison watch his back at all times when he was around.

Liv reassured him constantly that Huck was just different, but he was a good guy. It was only with time, seeing him interact with Olivia and his protective nature over her, that he was finally able to relax. Even now, as he stands in the doorway, he has absolute confidence that if there's anything to know about Olivia's past, Huck will find it. If there's anything he can do to protect her reputation, he will do it.

"I don't like it when people watch me."

Harrison has no idea how Huck knew he was standing there. Just one more thing about the man he'd never understand. Harrison steps inside, fully, closing the door behind him. "Huck, you know how important this is."

Huck says nothing but gives a barely perceptible nod.

"We're her gladiators. She's our client and we can't fail her."

"You work on the media plan, I've got this."

Harrison knows when he's been dismissed, so he turns and leaves. Huck watches Harrison disappear down the hallway.

Huck's always liked Harrison, but there is something that's always annoyed him. It's this need to feel important. The need to shine, to get the big office, to be "the man" and sometimes, he makes mistakes. He is a flashy guy, someone who could be noticed, whereas everyone else did their best to remain in the background.

He continues working, focusing his attention on Rowan. He's seen the picture, knows who he is more intimately than he'd like. Understands pieces of the puzzle the others don't, not yet anyway.

The sound of Olivia's cell phone startles her from her brief nap. The name Cyrus Beene flashes on her screen. "What?"

"How are you holding up, kid?"

She's never been so relieved to hear his voice on the other end of the line. She cradles the phone between her neck and shoulder, checking her watch for the time. It's nearly two in the morning, and he's still working. It's bad. "How's he holding up?"

"You know him, blinded by love, so all is well in his world."

"You say it like it's a bad thing. You love James, don't you?"

"We're not talking about James and me, we're talking about you. How are you holding up?"

"Fine. Who's the leaker?"

"Don't know yet. Fitz doesn't seem to care, but if we have a leak coming from the White House, we need to know so we can get rid of him or her."

"You're planting false information, aren't you? At some point, the leaker will leak again and if you-"

"We've got it covered, Liv." She can hear Cyrus's breathing change on the other end.

"What is it?"

"He's in real trouble and he doesn't see it. I may need you to help do some damage control."

"He told me he doesn't want me fixing him."

"Well, if we don't handle this, he's done."

Olivia runs her fingers through her hair, sighing heavily. She wants to leave this to him to handle because she promised, but this is his legacy that's in jeopardy. She closes her eyes, regretting the words before she speaks them. "What do you need me to do?"

"A one on one with Kimberly Mitchell."

"Cyrus, I'm not doing it without consulting with him. This is too big to leave him in the dark."

"Understood."

"I need to see him. Talk to him face to face about this."

"Are you insane!? Everyone is looking for the 'money shot' and you're going to play right in their hands?!"

"Cyrus, you want me to do something, I need you to do something for me first." With that, she hangs up the phone with a smile. Finally, something for her to handle.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Olivia doesn't know how long she's been staring at her phone, willing it to ring. It's nearing five in the morning and the office is silent. Harrison, Abby and Quinn went home long ago, at her insistence, but Huck stayed.

She puts her feet on her desk and looks around her office. It all seems so foreign now, like she doesn't belong here, yet it's the only place she does belong. It's been more of a home to her than her apartment, more of a place of comfort than any other place she's know.

She glances at one of the television screens and sees a picture of a "casual Fitz", dressed down for the occasion, a picture that was taken years ago on the campaign trail. She'd bought it for him. Saw it in a simple, local store and couldn't resist.

_It is unexpectedly warm that day. Hot, actually. In the nineties and humid and everyone is miserable. The air is thick, almost suffocating. _

_They'd spent the night before together, in his hotel room. He is the first to awaken, which is usually the case, and he props himself up on his elbow to get a better view of her sleeping body. She is most beautiful to him when she is sleeping. There is a peacefulness about her, no stress, no worries. She looks so innocent._

_He places a kiss on her temple, then her cheek, her nose, her lips. His fingers graze the side of her neck, then find their way traveling down the side of her body, until they find her hand. He slides his fingers between hers and squeezes._

_She isn't asleep, but she lets him have these moments of calm with her. It is something he needs, they both need. She moves his hand to her stomach and it rests there. They're both thinking the same thing, if only things were different._

_She looks over at the clock. Their day would start soon, another day of pretending, another day of avoiding. He feels her as she begins to pull away, and grips her midsection just a little tighter._

"_Not yet," he says, placing a kiss on her shoulder._

_She needs this as much as he. So she lays back down and relaxes as he drapes a heavy arm and leg over her body, locking her in place. She moves his hair back, and kisses his forehead._

"_I know. I need a haircut."_

"_Don't you dare. I love it the way it is. Just a little wild, a little untamed," she says, kissing him again while continuing to play with his curls. _

_And that's one of the many things he loves about her, how she just lets him be himself. Not the presidential candidate who wears expensive suits and ties while trying to look regular. The guy who likes to wear Navy sweatshirts and comfortable pants. The guy who will let his hair grow and not care what anyone else thinks. She loves his imperfections and he loves hers._

_The sun moves higher in the sky and with a groan, she moves away from him. They're already a little colder and the masks they wear outside, are already on. She takes her shower first, selecting a casual outfit for the day, something more suitable for all the outdoor events they would attend. _

_When she comes out of the bathroom, her hair a perfect mess of waves and curls, he's standing over his suitcase, searching for something to wear. He'd packed poorly. She smiles at him, reaching around and grabbing a blue shirt and a pair of khakis._

"_You sure?"_

"_Just for now," she kisses him. She has that glint in her eyes, the one that tells him she's up to something._

_God, he loves her, the way she always knows what to say or do, or how to touch him. He pulls her in for a kiss, this time deeper and more passionate, a kiss that threatens to lead them right back to bed._

_She puts her hands on his chest and gently pushes him away. "Go shower." _

_As he turns and leaves the room, she sits on the bed. She could get used to this. Waking up every morning in his arms, feeling his lips on every part of her body, holding his hand throughout the night. She could get used to a life like this, a real relationship that's the strongest partnership she's ever known. _

_Before him, she had no clue what love was. It seemed like an abstract dream or wish, more than a possibility. Yet, what they have is perfect. It's in the way they move around each other. The way they finish each other's sentences. The way they both know each other. _

_By the time he finishes his shower, she's made the bed, a habit she'd formed in childhood and one that's never left. He smiles at her and shakes his head, not understanding her quirk._

_Olivia starts putting on her shoes. "I'll meet you at the campaign stop."_

"_Where are you going?" His voice always has a hint of panic when she leaves him, like he think she's never coming back._

"_Shopping." She gives him a peck on the lips and leaves before he can ask any more questions._

_She remembers seeing a small shopping area on their way to the hotel. As she walks, she takes in the scenery around her. It's beautiful. Quiet. A typical small, middle class American town with flags hanging from every building, clean sidewalks, manicured lawns with a Main Street. _

_She ducks into the first store she sees. Immediately, she feels all eyes on her. The woman folding clothes near the front of the store suddenly stops folding. The conversation in the back, near the cash register, suddenly ceases._

_She walks over to the men's section, touching the fabric of the shirts. Feeling the coolness between her fingers. Eyes are on her, she feels them, but she doesn't acknowledge them. She hears footsteps coming closer and stopping next to her. _

_A fake smile. A few moments of observation. "May I help you?" She looks the salesperson up and down, watching her shift uncomfortably._

"_No, thank you," is her very measured response. A fake smile. A stare down. _

"_We have a sales rack in the back with some very nice things." _

_Swing, the ball is back on her side of the court. There are so many things Olivia could say, none of which would be suitable for evening news. All of which would hurt the candidate. So, she smiles even more sweetly and says, "I'm fine right here. Thank you." Dismissed._

_The salesperson disappears from view, but her eyes are still watching Olivia carefully. She's sure one of the women near the register in the back has her hand on the button to call the police, just in case. _

_Olivia weigh the pros and cons of staying in this store and giving them her dollars, versus leaving. The optics of it all. She makes the decision, turns and leaves with her head held high. _

_She could almost hear the collective exhale, the finger leaving the button, everything returning to normal. She's used to it. It's almost comical at this point. _

_She chooses another store and this one, this one friendlier. A nod of acknowledgement when she enters. A smile. _

"_Welcome. Is there anything I can help you with today?"_

"_No, thank you." Olivia browses freely. She smiles at another customer who's discreetly watching her from the corner of her eye. Olivia isn't uncomfortable under the woman's watchful eye. Her smile, in fact, seems to embolden the woman._

"_Excuse me," the woman says as she approaches, "aren't you Olivia Pope? Governor Grant's campaign manager?"_

"_Yes, I am."_

"_My daughter is going to be so upset, she's a big fan. She said she wants to be the next Olivia Pope."_

"_Really?"_

"_She loves politics, I don't know why, it's kind of dirty, but she's seen a few interviews with you and all she talks about is being the next Olivia Pope."_

"_I don't know what to say. Please, tell her thank you." _

"_Are you buying something for Governor Grant? He probably didn't pack right. Men never do." Olivia smiles at the woman and nods. "My husband is the same way." She almost hesitates to ask the next question, but asks anyway. "Is he as handsome in person?"_

"_Governor Grant?"_

"_Yes."_

"_More." If she only knew, Olivia thinks. Suddenly the experience from the store before, which left a bad taste in her mouth for the entire town, is washed away. _

"_Figures. Well, I'll let you get back to your shopping. Good luck. We're rooting for him."_

"_Thank you." The woman is gone and Olivia turns, her eyes landing on the perfect shirt, a shade of blue that will bring out the color in his eyes. The fabric cool. She looks at the tag. Even better, it's American made. This will make a great story._

_Later, she sees Fitz talking to a group of people at a barbecue. She catches his eye and motions for him to follow her. Within minutes, they're standing on the empty campaign bus._

"_Hi."_

"_Here," she thrusts the bag toward him, ignoring his "hi" because she knows how quickly it can go from a word to actions they can't control. "Put this on."_

_He lays the bag on a seat and moves closer to her. "Fitz."_

_He keeps moving closer, ignoring her plea. He takes her face between his hands, stroking her cheeks, placing little pecks on her lips. "I love you."_

_She kisses him, and pulls him in for a hug. It's what she needs from him now, just to feel safe. To feel good. To feel protected. He holds her a little tighter, kissing her neck._

_They stay that way for as long as they can, hearing bits of sentences from people walking by the bus. These are the moments that mean the most to both of them. The sex is beyond great, but it's the moments of quiet, when there's no one else around that the can just "be" with each other, that mean the most._

"_I have to change."_

"_You do."_

"_Olivia, after what we've had, what we have, there's no way I can go back to how it was before you."_

_She hears him, but doesn't acknowledge his words. He knows she doesn't believe him, but he doesn't push. He knows her too well. She reaches around him and takes the bag, pulling the shirt out. She drapes it across one of the seats, and unbuttons the shirt he's wearing._

_Her eyes never leave his, and his never leave hers. She unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves, then slides the shirt off his shoulders. She kisses his chest and he closes his eyes when her lips make contact with his skin. She takes the other shirt and puts it on him, leaving the first two buttons undone._

"_Thank you," he whispers._

_She nods. He takes her hand as he starts to leave, but notices she's not coming with him. He faces her and she says, "You go ahead. I've got work to do." He kisses her hand, then leaves her alone._

Olivia shakes herself from her memory. There is no time for sentimentality in the present. She grabs her laptop and starts working on the plan which she titles, "Kimberly Mitchell Offensive." Her next moves could determine the fate of his presidency.

She can't think about their life together because then she'll make mistakes. Letting emotion in was her first mistake when it came to him and each and every time she acts on emotion, it ended badly for them. So this time, she turns off her brain and thinks like an independent fixer, someone whose only interest is in saving the client.

While she is OPA's client, he is hers. So she starts typing, beginning with her plan to convince Fitz and ending with the pre-approved questions she'll submit to Kimberly before their interview. When she's finished another day has come and gone. Meals have been eaten. Notes have been read.

She's nearly asleep when her cell rings. It's Cyrus.


	11. Chapter 10

**As always, thank you for your support. **

**Someone mentioned something in the comments section and I want to address it. I made a deliberate choice to write Olivia in two different stores with two very different reactions, as an attempt to try to bring race into the story. I didn't want the incident to overshadow anything, but I like writing about little moments that shape who we are, and it seemed appropriate. **

Chapter 10

The first time she brought him here, it was under the cover of night. With the long, winding driveway, it was secluded enough for them to avoid detection. The last time they were here, he wasn't President. They were just a couple trying to get away from it all.

It was risky, coming back here, but it also provided more privacy than any other option they'd considered. She arrived early to clear her head, to straighten up, to remove the dusty covers from the furniture. To get a few groceries in the house because he would likely want to stay and she would let him.

She looks around the house as though it's the first time she's seen it. It's large, too large for people who made their living on the government's payroll. It'd never occurred to her before. She mentally adds it to the list of things to have her team check, although she's sure they are way ahead of her.

She walks through the house, which hasn't changed over the years. It still looks like the place she spent the first thirteen years of her life. The furniture, once modern for its time, has the slight odor of age, but oddly, it still looks unused.

As Olivia walks down the hall, she can practically hear her laughter as a child. She was so loud, her father always urging her to use her "indoor voice". They both knew such a thing didn't exist. She would put her index finger to her mouth, making a shushing sound, then throw her head back and let out an even heartier laugh. He'd shake his head and she'd disappear down the hallway, laughter echoing all the way.

It'd been years since she'd entered the master bedroom; she treated it like a sacred temple. Feeling brave, or maybe something else, bored, nostalgic, she steps inside. The bed is still made, clock frozen in time, robe still lying across the bed.

No one touched the room after they died. There were landscapers who came weekly and a housekeeper who came from time to time, but they were under strict instructions to leave things as they were. She knew one day she'd want to come back, maybe go through their things, maybe not, but what she needed were the memories for times just like this, when things were so out of control and she needed to be grounded.

Fitz is the only man she'd ever brought here. It was like letting him in, finally, and she told him things she'd never shared with anyone else. Like the time she split her knee open trying to run up the stairs of the back porch. He kissed her knee, a sweet gesture that makes her smile just thinking of it.

They'd cooked in the kitchen. Well, he cooked in the kitchen, his specialty, he called it. Grilled cheese and tomato sandwich with a side of ranch dressing. It sounded awful, but when she took a bite, she had to close her eyes and savor the burst of flavor which exploded in her mouth.

They'd laid in her bed, staring at the posters of George Michael. She confessed her crush and he laughed at her. So out of control, holding his stomach, kicking his legs and she did the same.

"Nobody knew back then," she said between giggles.

The laughter turned to kissing which turned into making love. It was beyond amazing. They took their time with each other, exploring, loving. No interruptions. No deadlines to meet. Nothing but the two of them and it was a glimpse into what their future could be. The easiness they both craved was theirs for that one night.

She hears the garage door as it opens and she has to keep herself from running into his arms. She has to pull herself together even before she falls apart. She takes her time answering the door, straightening her clothes, smoothing her hair.

She opens the door and it's Tom she sees. She steps to the side and motions for him to enter.

"M'am."

"Tom."

"I just have to check it out."

She stands near the door as he goes from room to room, making sure it's secure for the President. He brings his cuff to his mouth and says something she can't hear. He nods in her direction and this time, when she opens the door, it's Fitz she sees.

As time stands still and they look at each other, Tom discreetly disappears. It's been too long. Both are tired, worn out from the events of the past week. They need this time together, need each other.

It's impossible to tell who moves first, but they fall into each other's arms. She plays with the hair at the nape of his neck and he runs his hands soothingly up and down her back. They both breathe a little easier as they find strength in each other.

Their embrace lasts for what seems like minutes, both reluctant to let the other go. She finally pulls away, giving him a weak smile as she takes his hand and leads him toward the kitchen table, where they both sit.

"You look tired." She lifts a hand and rubs her thumb across his cheek. He leans into her touch, closing his eyes and letting her warmth wash over him. "Have you slept at all?"

His lack of response is his answer. "Are you hungry?"

"A little. You're not going to cook are you?"

She playfully punches him in the shoulder. He's never going to let her live that down. "It was one time, Fitz, one time," she laughs. "And technically, it wasn't a fire." Technically, she was right. "And the only reason I overcooked it-"

"Burned it. You burned it beyond recognition."

"Okay, the only reason I burned it was because I was concerned about salmonella poisoning and you had a big debate coming up."

"Um, next time, just use a meat thermometer."

They laugh and laugh, for the first time in what seemed like years. There is nothing weighing on them. No thoughts of tomorrow and what it will bring. The lightness of being together, in love, and actually believing they can conquer anything.

It's a rare moment for them, without any outside forces intruding on their perfection. A moment when they can breathe freely and without worry. But, it's only a moment.

The laughter fades. The weight returns. And she remembers why they're here in the first place. She can't just blurt it out; she has to keep moving. So she busies herself with the task of making their dinner: popcorn.

"I should give an interview."

"No."

"We have to stop letting the media define us. Define the story. We have to take control back."

"I'll do that. You do nothing."

She turns toward him as she waits for the oil to heat. "Fitz, you know I'm right about this. I can't keep hiding."

"Olivia, trust me to take care of us. Please."

There it is, the "trust" card. They know each other too well, know the buttons to push. Early in their relationship, he stumbled upon the biggest obstacle to their relationship and every now and then, he brings it up.

The thing about Olivia is she can't trust. Not completely. There are "degrees" of trust. She "trusts" Huck, but she doesn't tell him how she's feeling. She's strong for him.

She "trusts" Abby, but not with her personal life. The wall between them is built upon Abby's dependence on Olivia. Olivia saved her, so Abby thinks she owes her. Olivia sees Abby as someone she once saved, and now has to protect. They will never be on the same level.

She "trusts" Harrison, once willing to admit to her relationship with Fitz. But she won't trust him with the darker parts of what she does. The shadier part of "fixing". He remains on the outside looking in.

Lastly, she "trusts" Quinn. Much like Abby, their trust is based on Olivia saving.

Fitz is different. She trusts him with her heart and that's something that's completely foreign to her. She's a control freak, always has to be the person making the final decision.

He can see her mind racing, so he moves closer, grabs the popcorn and pours it into the pan with the hot oil, covering it with the top. Then, he kisses her, knowing she's off balance and it's his best opportunity to seize control of the situation. To convince her to let him take care of it.

She pulls away, then turns away, shaking the pan on the stove so the popcorn doesn't stick to the bottom. "It's not just you in this. My reputation, my business, everyone is suffering. I think I deserve to have my voice heard."

She's right. This one time, he wants to be the one to fix things for her. Yet, once again, any way he looks at it, she's the one making sacrifices for him.

"I'll get Kimberly Mitchell. It'll be friendly."

They say nothing more as the kernels dance along the bottom of the pain, jumping to the top and falling down again. They say nothing as she melts truffle butter, his favorite, and pours it on the still warm batch of popcorn. They say nothing as she hands him the bowl and grabs a couple of glasses with the bottle of red wine that's been breathing for the past hour.

He waits for her as she leads him into the living room. One investment she did make in the house is a big screen television, just for movies. "I'm doing the interview."

He nods, putting his arm around her and pulling her closer, kissing her on her temple. "Okay."

For the rest of the night, they stay glued together. There's no more talk about strategy or handling. There's no more talk of saving his presidency or trust or her gladiators. It's just the two of them being normal. Watching a couple of romantic comedies. Dragging a blanket over them. Cuddling. Normal things. The things they've missed. For one night, just this night, there are no more worries.

Morning comes too soon. Light peeks in from the outside. She awakens first, stretching her aching limbs. Looking over at him, his lips with a slight pout as he feels her moving further away.

She leaves him there. He notices, but his eyes will not open. His body will not move. He's tired of this. Tired of the whole game and maintaining the optics. He vaguely hears her puttering around in the kitchen, singing quietly to herself. Still, he cannot move.

She busies herself with arranging the bagels on the platter perfectly. She carries the tray into the living room and places it on the coffee table. She leans over and kisses him. Soft, sweet kisses on his cheeks, forehead, lips, nose, anywhere she can reach. Then, she tickles him, watching the smile appear on his face as he tries to cover himself.

"Time for breakfast sleepyhead."

He opens his one eye, and then the other, flipping her over so he can tickle her.

"Stop it! Stop it!" She manages to say through her giggles. "Okay, I give. I give!" He stops, but doesn't let her go. He holds her for a few moments, enhales her scent, kisses her neck.

"Let me just brush my teeth and I'll be right back."

She watches as he leaves the room. This is something she can get used to, quiet mornings with him. She grabs her phone and sees she has twenty missed calls, the majority of which, she guesses, are from Cyrus. She'll deal with that later.

He returns, smiling.

"What?"

"You did all this?"

"I am perfectly capable of popping a couple bagels in the toaster without burning them."

He kisses her again as he sits down and grabs a mug of coffee. She always knows how to make it perfectly. As he takes his first sip, he closes his eyes, savoring it. "When do you want to do the interview?"

"In a couple of days, I guess."

"The White House will issue an official response after the interview airs."

"I'll make sure you have a transcript beforehand and we'll run our comments by you first."

"Good."

They go back and forth like this during breakfast. Working together, planning his future. They don't, however, broach the subject of their future. It's too soon to think about it, or perhaps too painful. One crisis at a time is all they can manage.

Soon, the outside world intrudes. Tom knocks. She's leading him to the door by his hand. They take a minute to just be. Touch each other. Kiss. Embrace. The little things, because their time together is always so limited and each encounter could be their last.

Where other goodbyes felt like what could be an ending, this one feels like a beginning. She is here, in her childhood home with the love of her life. There are no answers to her current predicament, just the effort to do the best they can.

She kisses him one last time and then he leaves. She is left all alone again. She waits awhile, cleans up, re-covers furniture. She gives him a head start, then she re-enters the real world. Gets in her car and drives back to OPA where she will be met with the new day's challenges.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Olivia's drive to OPA is a quiet one. She doesn't bother turning on the radio, or her phone for that matter. She needs this time to gather herself, to steel herself in preparation for what lies ahead.

She mentally goes over her "to do" list. Calling Kimberly Mitchell is first. Then Cyrus. Checking on the team and preparing them for what's next. Last, and so far down on the list, checking their progress on researching her life.

As she nears her destination, OPA, she calls Huck, instructing him to meet her in the parking garage. When she arrives, he's standing in her parking spot, arms behind his back, stance wide, looking around to make sure she hasn't been spotted.

As she turns off the car, he gives her a subtle nod, letting her know everything is okay. As soon as she opens her door, she's in gladiator mode, rapidly firing questions and comments to Huck, all of which he's fully prepared to answer.

"How far did you get with the research?"

"Far. Rowan is your biological father."

It should have surprised her, but it didn't. The minute she saw the financial connection, she knew. She should feel some sort of pain, shock, something. Instead, she's numb to it, her armor absorbing all the hits she will take today.

"He sent extra money to the Roberts family for you. Paid taxes on the house."

"What about my par-the people who raised me?"

"I'm still working on your mom. She worked at DoD and her file is classified. Your dad was a pretty straight shooter. In line for SoS. Lived for the country."

They stopped talking when the elevator doors open. Harrison, Abby and Quinn are waiting for her. "Huck's been briefing me, but right now, we have a bigger issue. Conference room. Five minutes." She starts removing her jacket, "Huck."

He follows her in her office, closing the door behind them. "The accident."

"The accident report disappeared. Newspaper archives scrubbed. Financial trail is complicated. There's a lot there, Liv. We need to be careful."

"Pull the others off?"

Huck nods. "I don't think you want to involve them in this."

Olivia gives him the weakest of smiles, the best she can do. She loves him, loves the way he protects all of them. "You'll keep digging though?"

"Yes."

He turns without saying another word and leaves. Olivia sits in her chair and gives herself a moment to think about the road she's traveling. She wants to grieve for the man who was her father for so many years. Shed tears for the man who had to live a lie. She wants to scream at her mother, the woman who was too perfect and evidently live a secret life. Then, there's Rowan.

She's aware of the B613 connection, which is why they must tread lightly moving forward. As looks out of her office, she sees everyone gathering in the conference room. Her pain must wait. Her thoughts must take a backseat to what's next.

She retrieves her cell phone from her purse and scrolls through the numbers until she sees the name Kimberly Mitchell. She presses the "dial" button before she can talk herself out of it. She looks at her watch, knowing that at this time, Kimberly is dining at her favorite DC restaurant for lunch, preparing for the evening's broadcast. She picks up on the second ring.

"Kimberly Mitchell." Kimberly doesn't normally answer calls from "unknown" numbers, but with all that's going on, she's answering all calls.

"It's Olivia Pope." There's dead silence on the other end.

Kimberly has always admired Olivia Pope. The way she carries herself. Her intelligence. Her connections and unwavering loyalty. Their friendship, formed shortly after college when Olivia was trying to make her way in New York and Kimberly was climbing up the ladder at NY1, has never been one-sided. It's always been more of a quid-pro-quo kind of relationship based on mutual respect and honestly. So, when Olivia calls, it's always for an exclusive or a favor. "Olivia, how are you?"

"I've been better," she answers honestly. "How would you like an exclusive with me, telling my side of the story?"

"I'd love it, but what are the restrictions?"

"No holds barred, as long as we can tape it within the next 48 hours and I can have a copy of the transcript at least 2 hours before it airs."

"Done. I'll call you when I'm back in my office to go over the details."

"Great. Thanks." Olivia hangs up, mentally crossing that item off her "to do" list.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out as she exits her office. They're gathered around the conference room table with their favorite beverage in front of them, serious expressions on their faces. "Change in plan. I'm going to do an interview with Kimberly Mitchell. Harrison, I need you to prep me. Abby, please compile a list of rumors, innuendo and anything else that's being said out there and give it to Harrison. Quinn, you'll come with me. Let's go. You have five hours, people, then we'll reconvene in here."

Olivia, having been prepped for hours, and after reading her own questions and answers, drops the stack of papers she's been studying on her desk with a loud thud. As she waits for Cyrus to call her back with his thoughts, she checks to see if any new documents have been uploaded for her to view.

What she sees is a labyrinth of financial documents, designed to keep people out. And she sees a complete dossier on the man who raised her, noting that his parents, whom she thought were dead, are still alive. Her mother's parents, however, are dead. There is an entire family she never knew.

She was maybe five, living on the insulated world of her parents. She didn't think much of it then. But, as she went to school and classmates began to talk about brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and grandparents, she grew curious about those same people were in her life.

She approached her mother, who sat her down and discussed the meaning of death. It was a heavy conversation for a normal five year old, but Olivia had never been normal. In fact, she was always an "old soul", and she didn't require the usual kid gloves with which children are treated. As her mother went on to tell her that her grandparents were dead, and there were no cousins or aunt or uncles to speak of, she felt a little part of her deflate.

Yet, even as her mother talked to her, she felt a sense of something missing. Pieces of the story and although her mother had the best poker face, he gut, something she'd learned to trust at a very young age, told her there was more to the story.

So, she went to her father whose answers, which she didn't recall until now, were vague. His parents were "no longer around". Brothers and sisters: there were "none to speak of". Always room for interpretation. Never quite a lie, but never quite the truth.

Her phone rings, saving her from getting completely lost in her head. "Cyrus."

"Looks good, Liv."

There's a long pause, and when there's a pause with Cyrus, he's calculating. He's assessing. How much to tell her. What favor he needs to call in. "What?"

"He's still talking divorce. I can deal with infidelity. I can deal with the whispers from this disloyal staff. I can deal with anything but divorce. Liv, you and I both know she's the devil, and that's probably being too kind, but divorce, the American people are rather dim. And judgmental. And naïve. And they won't accept divorce."

"You're telling me this why?"

"You know why."

Her blood begins to boil. She'd - they'd both let Cyrus get away with so much. He undermines their relationship at every opportunity and for what? For his benefit. For what feels right for him, no one else. He isn't the only one who deserves happiness. So this time, instead of falling for the bait, she hits back. "Fitz is an adult who makes his own decisions. I'm done letting you manipulate us."

There is silence on the other end of the line. Cyrus doesn't know how to deal with this Olivia, just as he doesn't know how to deal with this Fitz. He should feel guilty, but he doesn't. He should feel shame, but he doesn't. What he feels is anger at the two of them for letting their emotions get the best of them.

What he feels is-

"Cy, can I ask you something?"

He makes a sweeping motion with his hand, giving her the floor, even though she can't see him. He pulls at what's left of his hair, fearful of what she will say next, how she will break his heart this time.

"Why do you get to be happy and we don't?"

"What?"

"You have James. You're a gay man and White House Chief of Staff to a president whose party is doing everything they can to keep you from having the same rights-"

"You're one to talk."

"I'm not finished. It's an open secret in Washington, but you and I both know what it would do to Fitz's approval ratings if middle America were to find out. Yet, that doesn't seem to bother you. You get to be happy. Why don't Fitz and I get to be happy too?"

He's surprised she didn't ask the question earlier. It's a signal to him that he's dealing with a different Olivia Pope, one who won't be so easily manipulated. Who won't be so easily controlled by the threat of the destruction of Fitz's legacy. "Because it's a big difference between cheating on his wife with an African-American woman and my personal life."

"I figured you'd say that. But you know what? More than half of all marriages end in divorce. That's reality. And maybe America needs to see a reflection of themselves in the White House. Did you ever think of that? You always said I'm the best, I know I'm the best, so why not trust me to make the American people love me?"

She is greeted with silence, not that she expected any other reaction. He doesn't have an answer because, Olivia finally realizes, he is all about himself. It hurts.

"Nevermind. I have to go," she says, and then hangs up.

Olivia doesn't want to do the interview, but she knows she has to. Doesn't want to reveal any part of her personal life, doesn't want to be on camera, but she's past the point where she can let the story unfold. Kimberly, thankfully, agreed to come to her so she at least has the advantage of being on her own territory.

They've spent the past several hours making the office presentable, hiding case files just in case, covering the cracked windows that she's meant to have fixed for years, but secretly loves. She's had little time to think about the latest revelations about her life. Mentally, she makes a note to review everything later, when it's quiet, when she's trying to distract herself as she waits for the interview to air.

Abby has been watching Olivia for minutes. Wanting so badly to judge, but not able to. She sees Olivia's pain. She sees the face behind the mask that's slipped from time to time today. She's already beating herself up and Abby's judgment will only add to the stress. "Liv, you want some tea or something?"

Olivia jerks her head in Abby's direction, startled by the sound of her voice. "No. Thank you."

Abby nods, and instead of taking a step back, she moves closer to Olivia. "I know you're going through a lot with this and...your past...but this is worth fighting for."

Before Olivia can respond, she hears the ding of the elevator. She stands a little taller and puts the mask back on. The welcoming smile, extended arms, purposeful walk all scream that she's ready to do battle for Fitz and with Kimberly Mitchell and her crew.


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Olivia, I can't thank you enough for this exclusive."

Kimberly and Olivia sit in her office together as her crew sets up for the interview. They've been sitting together, silently, for less than five minutes but it feels like hours to Olivia. The tension is there, though Kimberly is polite and non-invasive, trying to give Olivia space to gather her thoughts.

"I got your suggested questions, and I think it's a good starting point. Is there anything off limits? I know you said no before, but I want to make sure you're comfortable."

"No questions are off limits."

"Olivia, what happened?" It's the question Kimberly has been dying to ask since the story broke. She wasn't entirely surprised by the revelation, having watched Olivia and Fitz interact on several occasions and it was never the big moments with them, it was the little things. A lingering look. The touch of a hand. She thought to herself, more than once, that if they weren't together and if things weren't so complicated, they would make a dynamic couple.

Olivia looks up from the invisible mark on her desk which held her attention for so long. She looks at Kimberly and without hesitation she says, "I fell in love." It was as simple as that.

Just then, there's a knock on the door. Kimberly's cameraman. "We're ready when you are."

With a deep breath and butterflies in her stomach, Olivia stands, "Let's go." And with that, she leads the way out of her office. The walk to the conference room, though short, feels more like a march toward death. Surprisingly, it's not dread she feels, it's confidence.

Olivia, sitting at the head of her conference room table and Kimberly, sitting next to her, takes several deep, cleansing breaths. She waits. She waits for the signal. Waits for her nerves to stop pricking her fingertips and toes. This is her moment to change the narrative, to show the world who she is; it is an opportunity to save Fitz.

"Are you ready?" the cameraman asks Kimberly.

"Liv?"

Olivia nods. She takes a final deep breath as she waits for the red light on the camera. Liv is gone, replaced by Olivia Pope in full gladiator armor. When the light comes on, and her armor is reinforced, Kimberly Mitchell takes over. "We're here tonight with Olivia Pope, the woman at the center of the latest Presidential scandal. Thank you for being with us, Ms. Pope."

"I can't say I'm happy to be here, Kimberly, but thank you for the opportunity to tell my side of the story."

The interview starts with a few routine questions about Olivia's background, how she and the President met. A perfectly constructed interview, allowing Olivia to become more comfortable before steering the conversation toward the affair.

"Ms. Pope, tell us about your relationship. How did it get started."

"Kimberly, we like to think we live in a perfect world with perfect people. And that's not the case. We are imperfect and life is messy, no matter how hard we try to do the right thing. The thing is, right and wrong aren't always black and white; there's a vast area of gray."

"That is perhaps more true in DC than any other place."

"Exactly. So to answer your question, we've been involved since the campaign trail and yes, it was messier than either of us would have liked, and no, it wasn't an ideal time, but I think you find your soulmate, no matter how hard you both try to resist, it's too powerful to deny."

"There was a moment on the campaign trail, during a debate, when President, then Governor Grant said he was in love with an incredible woman, and he seemed to be staring off into the distance. I did some research and it appears the First Lady was not at the event. Was he referring to you?"

"Yes. Nothing had developed at that point, but it was then that we both were ready to admit there was something more going on between us."

"The President has said he's getting a divorce and he and the First Lady has lawyered up. Where does that leave your relationship?"

"I don't know. The problem with Fitz and me has never been a lack of love and trust and support. His divorce is not going to happen overnight, and I think I have some work to do on me. Hopefully, when the time is right, we can move forward together. Our decision won't be dictated by anyone other than the two of us." Olivia's tone is defiant, and Kimberly waits a moment to let her words sink in with the American public. Kimberly has to fight hard to stifle a smile because this fiesty Olivia Pope mirrors the feistiness that President Grant showed when he spoke to the American people. For once, public opinion, focus groups and the media will not dictate the private lives of public figures in a town that is all about approval.

"Now, this is a delicate question, especially with it being an election year, but do you see your race as an impediment to America accepting the President's relationship with you?"

"I'm not naïve and I know there's a faction of society that will not accept me because of my race. There will also be a faction within my own race that will not accept this relationship because it is interracial and I am somehow betraying my own race. There's yet a third faction that won't accept the relationship regardless because it goes against their moral beliefs. I used to be so concerned about what our relationship would do to his approval ratings, but I've realized we can't please everyone. At the end of the day, it's about our happiness and what works for us, not what society deems appropriate or inappropriate.

Fitz has given his life to this country, from serving in the military to fighting combat missions, to serving as Governor and finally, leading this country as our Commander and Chief. I challenge anyone who is against our relationship to compare what they've done for this country to his extensive resume. How much more can he give? He has earned the right to live his life as he sees fit."

Kimberly and Olivia continue a friendly question and answer session. There is not one misstep. Not one flubbed word. It is as close to perfect as anyone could have hoped.

When they're finished, Kimberly doesn't shake Olivia's hand. She pulls her in for an embrace, rubbing her back as they hug. Whispering, "That was perfect. I'm rooting for you two."

"Thank you."

As promised, the transcript is delivered to Olivia's office shortly after the interview. She doesn't need to read it. She knows she knocked it out of the park.

Harrison has lined up several surrogates from both sides of the aisle to speak on her behalf. Some required a little nudging, but most were so grateful for her services, or saving is more accurate, they didn't hesitate. Now, all they can do is wait. Wait for the interview. Wait for polling. Wait and see and then prepare to react accordingly.

She is restless, yet exhausted. Eager, yet fearful. This could still all blow up in their face, and there's a part of her that no longer cares.

She eyes the file that appeared on her desk while she was being interviewed. It is Huck's handwriting. It's what he does when he knows reading from a computer screen will be too taxing. When he knows she may need to step away from the office and study in private. When she needs to disconnect from every one and everything and focus on what's on the page.

She sighs as she knows what's inside. Not the details, but the starting point of the journey she must complete. When she spoke with Kimberly about work she needed to do on her, this is what she meant. Finding out where she came from. Why she wakes up in the middle of the night with a dull ache in the middle of her chest. Why her eyes fill with tears she refuses to let fall for seemingly no reason at all.

She flips the file open. Inside are pictures and dossiers, financial records, criminal records, FBI files and anything else she could imagine. She takes the file and drops it in her purse.

She needs to get out of there, needs some peace away from the prying eyes of her Gladiators. But, she can't go home. It's too lonely there. Too much quiet. She walks out of her office, "Huck," she says, walking toward his office. "I need you to come with me."

He doesn't say a word as he follows her out of OPA. She says nothing to the rest of them and they don't ask. Having learned how she operates, and the closeness of her relationship with Huck, they don't dare ask questions.

When they leave the office, she's not sure where she wants to go. The reporters that once surrounded her office have dwindled in size, the first sign that the story is losing traction. Or maybe they've realized showing glimpses of her from time to time won't do anything for viewership, so they've moved on.

When she looks up and gathers her bearings, she realizes she's in the park, in the shadow of the White House. She sits down on a bench. Huck gives her space, knowing from her body language that it's exactly what she needs.

She takes a deep breath as she opens the folder he left for her. The secrets of her past. So, she begins to read, eyes skimming the pages slowly, then quickly as she races to get to the next revelation.

As she reads, and comprehends, she sees that what she knew about herself, about her life, is all a lie. Confirmation: the man who helped raise her was not her father. Confirmation: her mother's life was just as checkered as she'd imagined. Confirmation: the accident that killed her parents was no accident at all.

What the folder also reveals is a kind of family. A family she never knew existed. A family that belonged to the man who raised her and now somehow belongs to her. Cousins. An aunt. An uncle. The things she's craved most, there all along. Years wasted thinking she was all alone. Of thinking that once she dies, her entire lineage would end.

She closes the folder, unable to continue. But there's so much more there, too much to digest in one sitting. She turns to Huck, who hasn't moved a muscle. "I'm not alone?" It comes out as whisper.

"No."

She's not sure what to do. Her first instinct is to have her grandparents watched. Make sure they're safe. Maybe obtain some intel in them and maybe, just maybe, step forward and introduce herself. There's another part of her, the less secure part, that wonders why they never looked for her. Why they didn't want her after her "father" died. Why they let her believe they were dead. Or was it all her mother?

She checks her watch. It's getting late. She then notices, for the first time, the people around her. Those who stare. Those with the camera phones who try to discreetly take pictures. She notices how they look at her; she is a pariah.

"Let's go," she says to Huck as she stands, grabbing her purse and folder. The people around her, don't expect her to hold her head high. Nor do they expect her to look them right in the eye, daring them to say something, anything. They look away first. Become occupied by something else.

It's a feeling of great satisfaction despite all that's going on in her world with her family and the President. She feels better than she's felt in days. She is still Olivia Pope. Still the woman who posseses some of Washington's dirtiest secrets.

This time, when she walks back to her office to get he car, there's more pep in her step. A confident swagger. And she'll need it as she embarks on this journey to her past. As she opens doors that others want to remain tightly closed.

She's not afraid. She's determined. She has to figure this all out to free herself from the thing that's held her back for so long. The root of so many of her issues.

With Fitz, for example, there has always been this feeling that she was unworthy. Although he had parental issues, to the outside world, it looked like the perfect American family. As a child of dead parents, there were always the looks of pity or something else she couldn't identify. It was an abnormality for which there is no cure, no disguise other than to disappear further within herself. It has always been a barrier in their relationship.

She was the girl who, when asked if she had relatives, was forced to answer "no". When asked for an emergency contact, most chose family, she gave the name of Cyrus or Joanne. Spouse, none. She is an anomoly.

That's something no one could understand about her. She is a woman without a face, or a past. When people talk about patterns of the parents, or things they don't want to repeat, she has nothing. And when it comes to telling secrets, she kept them all to herself.

"Liv, I have someone watching your grandparents."

"Anything I need to know?"

"Not yet. We're just getting started. I'm going to find out the why. I promise you that."

She takes his hand and squeezes it. "Thank you, Huck."

"I know you need to get home, for him, and you need to eat." He reaches into his pocket and grabs a burner phone. "He has one too. The number is programmed in. When it's time for a new one, I'll get it to you, and one to him."

Huck, much to Olivia's surprise, has always liked Fitz. He hates their situation, but likes them together. Although he's never said anything, Olivia's learned to read him like a book.

"Don't worry about anything. They came up with a plan, a good one, and you just have to sit back and let them do it. We're not going to let you down okay?"

She believes it. This time, she's the client. As she grips her purse tighter, pulling the folder closer, she knows that this is just the first step down a long and winding road. As she looks at Huck, and up at her OPA office she realizes that they have her too.


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Olivia passes a small gathering of press as she pulls into the underground parking garage, thankful Huck had the foresight to swap out her old, identifiable car with something different. Smaller. Tinted windows. Nothing that will generate much, if any, attention.

Olivia's apartment is quiet. Almost too quiet, not that she's hasn't gotten used to her life of loneliness. Still, with Joanne's departure, the emptiness is even more pronounced.

She drops the folder she'd been clinging to on the coffee table, as she reaches in her purse for the burner phone Huck gave her. She looks at it for a moment, before tossing it on the sofa, letting her exhausted body fall down right next to it. Suddenly, everything feels so heavy, the weight of her life, her body; she cannot move another muscle.

When she was a child, she had dreams. Big dreams. Of becoming an anonymous someone, an oxymoron, but no better description exists. Not to her. She wanted to make an impact in the world, but she didn't know until much later what that meant.

This, everyone knowing her name because of a scandal, isn't what she had mind. In fact, it's probably her worst nightmare, being the center of attention with everything so far out of control. It isn't fair, yet it may be exactly what she deserves.

She's always had to wear a mask. The mask of a brave one, the mask of being invisible, the mask of strength. Never could she really be herself. Never could she let the tears flow when she wanted, or smile with abandon. She always had to play a role.

She looks at her cable box, which brightly displays the time. The news will be coming on shortly and it will be her first opportunity to see her team's plans coming together. She starts to get up to pop herself a bowl of popcorn, but she notices the container on her table and freezes, then smiles.

Garrett's Popcorn, her favorite. It was an discovery during a campaign trip in Chicago. She's always been a big fan of its food group, popcorn, that is, and had a serious craving one night. Mellie wasn't around. Most of the campaign staff had turned in for the night. It was late.

Fitz decided they had to spend the night together. No matter how much she protested, he insisted. And she was too tired to fight him on it. When she tried to climb into bed early, he stopped her. Kept talking about a surprise.

Then, he left. Said he had to go and pick it up. She was more than a little annoyed. Yet, she waited. An hour later, he was back with a big tin of Garrett's popcorn and a bottle of wine. It was the beginning of the wine and popcorn combination that she's so fond of now.

She pops the lid off and inhales the aroma. Chicago style. Next to it is a bottle of Shiraz, and from the looks of it, it's from his private collection that he keeps in Santa Barbara.

These are the little things Olivia misses out on because she's not part of an official "couple". Someone to take care of her, not like a child, but as a woman with wants and needs. Yet, he's managing to do it despite all of the obstacles and inconvenience of it all, he's doing the little things.

Olivia flips on her television and turns it to her local news. A couple of deep breaths, and a handful of popcorn, and she's ready. She turns up the volume, sits back and watches as an image of her appears on the screen.

Almost immediately she sees the fingerprints of OPA. An infusion of positive energy. She's no longer the "other woman", she is a professional who cut her teeth working on some of the cleanest, most memorable campaigns in recent history.

There was the Texas gubenortorial race with now Governor Watson, who was, at the time, a third party candidate with little government experience. Watson came from a blue collar family of hard workers. Unlike his opponents the path wasn't laid for him by powerful family friends and an endless well of money. He worked his way to the top. Through scholarships. Through jobs. Overcame obstacles.

When Olivia first received a call by someone on his staff, she had never heard of him. As she dug deeper into his background, she saw something of a kindred spirit. He was conservative in some ways, but very liberal in others. Of his democratic and republican opponents, he was the one who held the more humanistic views on immigration. His humanity was, in fact, what drew Olivia to him.

There was no promise of money fame when Olivia decided to take him on as a client. She just knew he would make the best governor in a state that had become a laughingstock due to its consistent mismanagement.

There he is, on her television screen acting as a surrogate. With approval ratings in the seventies, he doesn't have to do this for her. He could've easily said no and she would've understood because he's been an effective and popular leader this point. She is toxic and can derail what progress he is making.

He speaks eloquently of their time together. Of her hard work and intelligence. Makes her sound like she is the reason he's where he is, and the reason the people of the great state of Texas are experiencing a turnaround no one predicted. Of her personal life he does not judge. Only offers a very human reaction. Not disappointment. Not scorn. Rather, he offers undconditional support for true love wherever it may appear. The punishment, he says, does not fit the crime and if there is a crime it is not that of a woman and man engaging in an adult relationship, it's in rushing to judge two people for their very human flaws.

She turns to another channel and there she sees Pastor Drake's widow, Nancy. Pastor Drake, the man whose dead body was discovered on top of his mistress. It's not something she expected to see, given the Nancy's reaction to her husband's infidelity, but there she is, offering kind words.

She doesn't speak of how Olivia Pope left her comfortable home in the middle of the night to help her. Arranged for the body to be removed. Handled all media requests. Helped deal with seating and funeral arrangements when she was in no emotional shape to do anything. All of these things Olivia did without asking for anything in return.

Instead, she speaks of how Olivia was there for her in her darkest hours and she handled everything. The widow is forever grateful. Olivia, she says, needs no one's forgiveness. Olivia needs to find her own happiness.

One by one people come to her defense. People who are respectable. People who have the admiration of so many Americans. Some who don't, but whose words carries weight in the eyes of the public. Some required arm-twisting, most though, most were just grateful to have an opportunity to help her.

She could see evidence that Harrison referred to the black folder, containing the most damning evidence of her of her clients' wrongdoing. Some surrogates, some of the most conservative members who, if she were honest, had more than a little problem with both her race and gender. They were brought to her as reluctant clients, clients who needed the best and had to overlook certain things about her that they didn't like. They owed her and only the contents of the black folder could get them in her corner.

More than once she received calls from Benjamin Jealous, head of the NAACP, asking how she could defend someone who held such racist views. Other times, she received calls from the National Organization of Women who were concerned with feminism and how she was setting it back by working for relics, but she knew exactly what she was doing. Accumulating favors which are now paying dividends.

Part of Olivia's job, and why she is so successful, is her ability to get along and adapt. She understood very early in the game how important it is to build a network of people for situations just like this. By working for people on both sides of the aisle, no matter how much she disagrees with their position, she's built capital.

She keeps the burner phone next to the bed, expecting his call at any minute. He always calls her. It's the way it's always been in their relationship, well, not exactly. On the trail, she called him exactly twice. The second time, Mellie answered, leaving her flustered and scrambling for a reason to have made the call in the first place. From then on, she let him do the calling when he was free. When he had privacy.

Like clockwork, he calls the new phone. She smiles. And answers, trying but failing to hide the giddiness in her voice. "Hi."

"Hi. How are you?"

"I'm good. You?"

"I'm fine." There's a long pause. It's the silence they crave. The knowing that their other half is on the other end of the phone. And they're okay. It's a moment to catch a breath, to inhale and exhale together, as one. "Your team did well."

"They did."

"What'd you have on Davis?"

"Fitz, you know I never talk about my clients."

"You talked about Pastor Drake."

"Well, that was too juicy to keep to myself. What makes you think I had something on Edison anyway?"

"Liv, come on, I know you. I'm almost afraid of what you have on me."

"I have nothing on you. I trust you."

"That's something coming from you. The White House is doing some polling after your offensive."

"Good. I'm sure my team is doing the same."

"What do you mean you're sure they're doing the same? You're letting someone else handle you?"

"Why sound so surprised?"

"You're a control freak. Sometimes."

She laughs out loud, covering her mouth, knowing exactly what he means. Olivia has always been a control freak, except when it comes to him. In the bedroom. There, she surrenders control. Only to him. That doesn't mean she doesn't, from time to time, takeover.

It wasn't that way their first few times together, while they got used to each other. She'd start off by letting him have control, but it would inevitably end with her doing what she wanted to do to him. And he let her, wanting her to feel comfortable with him. Wanting her to trust him. So, it took time, but he was patient. And then, one day, he'd broken through and she was truly his.

"Did you read the transcript from the Kimberly Mitchell interview?"

"Yes. America is going to fall in love with you and they're going to understand why I couldn't resist you."

"You sound pretty confident."

"I just think it's impossible to not fall for you, Livvy. We're going to break down some barriers. Are you ready for that?"

"No, but we're in this together, right?"

"Right. No Cyrus. No Mellie. It's you and me and we're both going to survive this."

"Has the White House coordinated their response to the interview?"

"Why are you changing the subject?"

"I'm not changing the subject. I just want to make sure we stay focused and are prepared and on the same page."

"Cyrus is handling the response."

"Okay." Then, she is quiet. It's a different kind of quiet. The one preceded by a low sigh, barely detectable, but he catches it. It's one of her tells.

"What's wrong, Livvy."

She mouths a silent _damn_. "It's nothing."

"Good. Now tell me."

"I've had my team looking into my past and, it turns out, I have a family I didn't know about."

"So, when are you going to reach out to them?"

"Who said I'm going to reach out to them? They didn't care to reach out to me. They left me to be raised by strangers."

"Oh, you're going to see them because it's too big for you to leave alone."

He's right. She knows he's right and he knows he's right. She looks over at the bag she packed earlier in the night. "Tomorrow."

"Good. I'll call you tomorrow night to check in."

"You were going to do that anyway."

"Yes, I was. I love you, Livvy."

"I love you."


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Olivia checks the mirror for what may be the hundredth time this morning. She looks beautiful, professional, put together. Her muted lipstick is perfect for her classic style. Gladiator armor buttoned to the neck. Hair laid with a small "bump" of the ends, giving it the slightest curl.

She spent the night reading. Learning about her family. But the file could only give her the basics. Name, address, phone number, occupation, things like that. It didn't tell her who they were. It is a painting of broad strokes with no detail.

She alerted Huck that morning, that she would be away for a few days. When he pressed her, she casually told him she just needed to "close this chapter" of her life. He pretended to understand. Said he would give her space, but they both knew it was a lie.

She thinks about calling Joanne, to let her know she's coming, but opts instead to surprise her. She wants to hear Joanne's side of the story, see how much she knows. Or doesn't know. Fill in some of the blanks that have existed for far too long.

Olivia grabs her wheeled suitcase from the corner, takes a look around her apartment, not sure when she'll be back. Turns off all the lights. Locks the door. And leaves.

She heads for the underground parking garage. The lobby is filled with people. Some of the faces she recognizes. Others, she doesn't. They all recognize her though. There's less judgement. The air is lighter. Something bordering on boredom, or acceptance.

She smiles to herself, careful to not let the edges of her mouth curl too far upward. If they're any indication, her new offensive is working, at least a little. She makes a mental note to e-mail her team about the latest polling numbers, hers and Fitz's.

Olivia shifts from side to side as she rings Joanne's doorbell. The house is just as she remembers. Large. An inviting front. It's almost too perfect, the perfection disguising the secrets.

She sees the curtains swinging back and forth. Hears the click of the lock. Watches as the smile plastered on Joanne's face turns up, up, up, stopping before it reaches her eyes. Olivia is not sure what to think as she smiles back and extends her arms to Joanne, who gives her a big hug. "I wasn't expecting you Olivia. Come in." Joanne steps to the side, allowing Olivia the space to enter.

"I'm sorry to barge in like this."

"There's no need to apologize. This will always be your home." Olivia scans the living room. The furniture looks rather new. Freshly painted walls. "Have a seat. I'll get a couple of glasses of lemonade. I just made it."

"Thank you." As Joanne disappears from view, Olivia takes a seat, pulling her phone from her purse. She checks her e-mail and sees the polling numbers.

While she was on the trail, things were always so crazy, she had to develop a kind of shorthand with her team. Some of them, she brought with her to OPA. Like polling numbers. Green, yellow, red. She never had to closely examine the numbers if she didn't want to. Green means positive direction. Yellow means steady. Red means trouble. Then, there would be a number representing the percentage up or down, of the movement. It worked perfectly for times like this when a quick glance, green, 5, confirmed that things are looking up.

Olivia slips her phone back in her purse as Joanne re-enters the room, carrying a tray with a carafe of lemonade and two glasses. To Joanne, lemonade makes everything better. Whether it's "hard" lemonade or the more traditional variety, over lemonade is when real discussions, serious or otherwise, happen.

Joanne pours a glass for Olivia and one for herself, and then sits in her favorite chair. The silence is awkward, both knowing a serious discussion is on order. Neither knowing how to broach the subject, so, they avoid.

"It looks like you've been busy around here. I like it."

"Thanks. It was time."

And so the dance goes on and on between sips of spiked lemonade. Seriously spiked lemonade. Olivia puts her glass down, afraid that if she continues, she'll be in no shape to drive or do much of anything else. "I assume you know why I'm here."

Joanne nods. "Although, I can't think of why you'd want to go there after all these years. You should just let it be."

"I can't do that.

"Olivia, you are going to open a can of worms and you're not going to like what you see."

"Maybe not. But that's my decision to make. I don't understand why you'd want to keep my past from me."

"There are things you're never supposed to know."

"Joanne, we're both adults. I don't need your protection anymore. I need your honesty."

Joanne doesn't respond. Instead, she rises. Olivia looks up at her expectantly, eyes wide, waiting. Joanne holds up her index finger and disappears up the stairs.

Olivia can tell by the sound of her footsteps and their direction, Joanne is going to her bedroom. While she waits, Olivia looks at the pictures in the living room, all neatly framed. What's missing are the pictures she remembers from childhood. Those that told a story of a family. They've been replaced by photographs of Joanne, and members of her extended family, and of her deceased husband. There is no longer a trace of Olivia.

It stings. More than that, actually. It speaks to the heart of her loneliness, of never belonging. She was merely an obligation and at first opportunity, they wiped away all traces of her. She's so lost in her thoughts, she doesn't hear Joanne as she walks up behind her, carrying a strong box.

"They're upstairs, in your old room."

"What?"

"The pictures. They're in your old room."

"Oh." Olivia wants to ask why. She hasn't stayed there in years. Hasn't been to visit in years, yet she's been tucked away into what she can only assume is a tightly locked room. She shakes off the hurt, straightens her spine and turns toward Joanne with steely determination. "What's that?" Olivia asks, nodding her head toward the box.

Olivia follows Joanne to the sofa and watches as she opens the box. "I was never comfortable with any of it, but Carolyn was my best friend. She did what she thought was best for you. It was a mess. It was all a mess. And I'm sorry."

Inside of the box are photographs. Photographs of Olivia as a child. With the man who raised her, and someone else. "You have to understand, he couldn't have a family. He and your mother met and the wrong time. And fell in love when they shouldn't have. When she found out about you, she was so happy and so was he, but the reality of the situation didn't allow for their happily ever after."

Olivia flips through the pictures and sees herself at various ages with the man she recognizes as Rowan, her father. "Your mother and I had talked about Don and I raising you as our own, but she couldn't bear to let you go. So we came up with a plan b, James. He was nice. Quiet. Ambitious. He needed his own someone."

"Why?"

"At the time, don't ask, don't tell didn't exist. So, it was the perfect arrangement for all of us. He concocted the perfect plan and for awhile, it worked."

"Until?"

"Until someone found out about you and Rowan and your mother."

"I already know the accident wasn't an accident. Someone was trying to kill them. Why?"

"Because Rowan had a family. Untraditional, but a family. They never got to you, obviously, and you've been under his protection ever since."

"His protection?"

"Look around you, Olivia. Just look around you."

Olivia doesn't have to look around her, she knows. Huck. He's her personal protector, courtesy of Rowan. The dots are connecting. "But why did you let me believe all of my family was dead?"

"They weren't, they aren't your family."

"James raised me, not Rowan. He was my father. You let me think I had no one. Do you know what that did to me?"

"The fewer people who knew about you, the better. James was a wonderful man, but his family, they were...different. There were certain values that they held dear."

"So they knew?"

"They knew. And they wrote him off. They were dead to him and vice versa, no matter how much he accomplished, they could never accept him."

Olivia flipped dug through the contents of the strong box. There were journals and letters and postcards. There was information to fill in the blanks. There was a family tree, meticulously charted for all sides of her family. "What about my mother?"

"She was an only child. The family tree ended with her."

"What can you tell me about Rowan?"

"Rowan is a man, pardon my language, you don't fuck with. His manners are impeccable. He's smooth. Kind. But do not cross him." She laughs a little to herself. "He tries though. At least where you're concerned, or were concerned. He took care of you financially. I remember when your mom found out she was pregnant with you."

"If he wasn't supposed to have a family, why didn't they take precautions?"

"Your mother was a bit of a daredevil. She liked to play dangerous games. Rowan was in the military. Special forces. As tough as they come. We all thought, knowing his personality, he'd want her to terminate the pregnancy. But he didn't. He stood there and cried."

"You make him sound like some sort of hero."

"Not a hero. Never a hero. But, he's human. And when you go through this stuff, you're going to learn some things. Some scary things about him. But he's always tried to do right by you, even if he could only do it from the shadows."

Olivia stands, gathering the contents of the box and tucking them back, safely inside.

"Olivia, you can take it all with you. Go to the house. Read it. Absorb it. Then figure out what's best for you." She takes Olivia in her arms and rubs her back, as she did when she was a child and unwilling to speak. Told her without words that she's okay, they're okay, and everything will be just fine.

When Olivia leaves, she doesn't feel sadness. Or a weightiness. She almost feels relief that finally she's getting some answers. Her life has been a lie, but she is on a path toward truthfulness and there is no other path she'd rather take.

She drives the short distance to her parents' house. Pulls into the garage and turns off the car. This is the quietest place she could think of going. It's the best place for her.

It's been years, so many years and she's never really gone through it. Never searched for the answers within the walls of this place she'd once called home. It felt like a violation. Like if she goes into their closet and starts rummaging through them, she's admitting that they're really gone. Not like she hasn't known that for years, but there's a finality to it.

There's an attic that's been untouched. Secret rooms. Compartments. Answers to questions she's never asked. There's a life she never knew.

And here, in this late hour, she's never been more sure of what she's doing. Never been more sure that this is the right time to find out who she is with the hope that this will lead to the illusive quest for happiness. That the answers will lead her to Fitz. Eventually.

She exits her car. Grabs her luggage from the trunk and enters the house where she will spend the next 72 hours filling in some of the blanks to the question, "Who is Olivia Pope?"


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

It's been nearly three days. Three days of sorting, organizing, reading and comprehending. At least trying to comprehend.

She knows she can only stay here so long. Only read so much. Only fill in so many blanks. Then, she has to step outside, discover the rest. And that's what she's afraid of. Showing up on her grandmother's doorstep and introducing herself. Asking the difficult questions about how and why.

She's always been a loner. Preferring quiet solitude to keeping people close. To networking. To anything that forces human connections. She once thought it was because she was born that way, with a need to feel disconnected. Perhaps there was something wrong with her.

There is a reason though, for her disconnectedness. A reason for her guardedness which has everything to do with the silent signals her parents sent to her. James and Carolyn, they had a secret. They were guarded. They raised Olivia to be skeptical and to hide in plain sight. They raised her to be an observer, and wary of anything that seemed out of place. They raised her to be alone, lonely, and never let anyone get too close because they would hurt her. Just as they'd been hurt.

All these years, she thought something was wrong with her. Would give herself pep talks about needing to be more social, never really meaning the words because with her job and her life and her secrets, she could never truly let anyone get close. But now, she has a reason, a beginning and maybe it will help her heal. It's what she wants.

She sees the attic is just as organized as everything else in the house. Her parents kept everything in its place, something else she learned from them. Still, they had their secret spots, like the attic, like the built-in safe and perhaps a secret room or two that she's yet to discover.

His and hers. That's the way she remembers it. His and hers closets. His and hers sinks. His and hers cars. Everything was separate and until recently, she never thought that it had anything to do with the two very separate lives they lived.

She strolls over to the side she knows is his. His side, with its dark colors of shelving, containers, stylish boxes, was easy to identify. She starts with the box furthest in the back, the one most hidden, and flips through its contents.

It's journals. Leather-bound journals with his initials etched on the front. On the spine, there is the volume number, in gold. She opens the first page and there's a dedication, to her, his daughter. If she could cry, she would, as she traced the words with her fingers.

Olivia tosses the tenth volume to the side as her burner phone begins to ring. She moves her head from side to side and massages her neck as she tries to work out the kinks. She grabs her phone and answers. "Hi."

"Hi."

His voice washes over her like a warm embrace, squeezing her, letting her know she's safe. She needs this right now, needs him and the comfort only he can offer. And she sits back and relaxes for the first time in days, listening to the sound of his breathing, the tenor of his voice.

"Where are you?"

"My parents' house. How are you? Have things calmed down?"

"I would've thought your team was keeping you posted."

"They are, but I want to hear it from you." Olivia dusts off her clothing and makes her way out of the attic, needing someplace more comfortable and relaxing so she can focus only on him.

"Thanks to you, public opinion is a little less black and a little more grey."

"And Mellie?"

"Mellie is Mellie. The public still hasn't forgiven her for airing our dirty laundry, and she and her team still haven't figured out how to turn that around for her."

"Impeachment proceedings?"

"They tried. But everything's controlled by public opinion and the public doesn't have the stomach for another impeachment. Now begins the apology tour, although I still have to figure out what I'm sorry for."

They chuckle. Fitz has never been sorry when it comes to the lengths he's willing to go to to be with her. And he's a terrible liar. "Maybe you're sorry for not being completely honest with the American public?"

"My private life is my own. Try again."

"Hmm, you're sorry for breaking your vows?"

"Nope."

"Fitz, you're not being cooperative right now. Let's see, you're sorry for-"

"I'm sorry for dragging your name in the mud. That's what I'm sorry for. I'm not sorry for what it'll do to the kids because Mellie has already done enough damage. At least with you they get to see me happy."

She should argue with him. Or at least try to debate with him, but there's been too many variations of the word "control" in her life. The way her parents "controlled" her. "Controlled" her narrative. The way she "controlled" Fitz by always putting his career interests first. So, she backs down.

"What?"

"What?"

"What aren't you saying? And why are you at the house again?"

There was a time in the not too distant past when she would've ignored his question, changed the subject, done something to strengthen the wall between them. The wall he keeps trying to tear down and the one she keeps reinforcing because she is so afraid of her love for him. It's what her parents taught her, the lessons she's working to undo as she discovers who she is. She takes a deep breath and then says, "I'm taking your advice."

"Which advice is that? You know, I've given you so much over the years, which, by the way, you tend to ignore."

"I don't ignore. I have to think, assess and then choose to take it. Or not."

"Mostly not."

She chuckles at their friendly banter. "I'm learning about my parents."

"Anything interesting?"

"Yes. I'll tell you all about it later."

It's an easy conversation between them. It feels right. Normal. The beginning of something new between them. And the walls, they're coming down too, defenses softening with the recognition by both that this isn't just a phase or something passing. It's real and mutual and beautiful and everything that fairytales are made of.

She is instantly reminded of something Cyrus said to her. That life isn't a fairytale, or something like that, but it should be. Fairytales aren't all happy all the time. They are complicated, like life, and love, in the end, should be the strongest thing of all. When you've found the right person, as she and Fitz have, it should be difficult, but strong, everlasting. It should be the reason for the smile and the tears and the highest highs and the lowest lows. Most of all, it should endure through it all, strengthening with each test.

"You know something, Liv?"

"What?"

"I finally see the light at the end of our tunnel. We just have to figure out how to get there. In a way, I think this has been the best thing that's happened to us."

She can't disagree. Won't. Because without this trial, they wouldn't be having this conversation. She wouldn't be open to being with him. She would've found yet another reason to run. Yet another reason to add more bricks to her wall. Now, there are no more secrets, only a clean slate upon which to craft their own love story.

"I've called a divorce attorney."

"Which one?"

"Klein."

"He's the best."

"I've given him an inventory of our assets. He's working on a fair settlement to offer Mellie. I just want this done and over. I want to finally take you on that date we talked about."

"Minus the walk in the park. That would be a logistical nightmare. But, we could still go to the movies-"

"Popcorn with truffle butter."

"Exactly. And we'll smuggle our own bottle of red wine in. We have to get there when the lights are out but before the previews."

"I know how much you hate missing the previews."

"We'll sit in the back and we'll eat popcorn and drink wine and if it's a horror movie, I'll pretend to be scared and jump toward you-"

"And if it's not?"

"I'll find some other way to lean on you and we'll make out like school kids."

They continue talking like that for what seems like hours, but it's really only minutes. Then, his other line starts to ring and Cyrus comes into his office and even though it's late, the White House is bustling, so he has to go.

Reluctantly, they say their goodbyes, ending with promises they both intend to keep. Ending with mutual I love yous. Sighs. Silence. And then the click.

Olivia retrieves her laptop and places it on the table as she waits for it to boot up. Her growling stomach alerts her to the fact that she hasn't eaten all day. So, she goes into the kitchen, to the drawer where they used to keep the menus, and flips through them until she finds the one for the pizza place she loved as a child.

It's been years since she's had their pizza, and she's pleasantly surprised when she calls and the family owned business is still opened. She orders her childhood favorite with light cheese, heavy sauce, pineapple and bacon. It's been years since she's allowed herself to indulge in that particular combination, but she looks forward to it.

As she waits, she returns to her computer, and checks her e-mail. Her team has sent encouraging e-mails. They have everything under control. Their plan is unfolding exactly as they planned. They've received a couple of phone calls about potential business. Disaster seems to have been averted.

She sees e-mails from Huck, discreetly asking if she's okay. If she needs anything else. A few stray documents with a bit more of her history. Overall, it's been more quiet than usual.

Then, her cell phone rings. It's Cyrus. She wants to ignore it, but that sense of loyalty that's always eating away at her, at least when it comes to him. She picks up. "What?"

"Hello to you too, Olivia."

She waits. He waits. Two stubborn mules going at it, neither wanting to be the one to break.

"Olivia?"

"What?"

"The Kimberly Mitchell interview is airing tonight."

"I know."

"I read the transcript. Good job. Fitz is going to do a rebuttal. Do you have a surrogate who's going to speak for you?"

"Talk to my team. They're handling it."

"What?!"

More slowly she speaks, "I said they are handling it."

"Where the hell are you?!"

"Don't worry about it. Now, if you've said everything you need to say, I have to go."

Cyrus is taken aback by this Olivia. She sounds the same, curt, as usual, but there is an edge in her voice that he doesn't remember hearing before. A self-assuredness; he's getting the same from Fitz. Immediately, his antennae rise.

This is his greatest fear, the two of them on the same page, together. Secure. Together, they will not let him control them. Together, they cannot be worn down or defeated.

"Cyrus?"

"Yes?"

"Is that all?"

"What are you two up to?"

"That's between Fitz and me. No one else. Not even you."

Just then, the doorbell rings and Olivia exhales a big sigh of relief. She goes to the door and answers, giving the deliveryman a big smile. His eyes widen as he recognizes her face and gives her the thumbs up. She laughs.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Olivia."

"Hold on, Cy."

"Here you go," she says, giving the young man a twenty. "Keep the change."

"Thanks," he says, turning and leaving as Olivia closes the door.

"Cy, I've got to go."

"We're not finished with this conversation."

"Yes, we are." Olivia presses the "End" button on her phone, hangs up and carries the pizza into the kitchen. She grabs a bottle of water as she places the pizza box on the table. She grabs the red pepper flakes from the cabinet, and sprinkles it all over the pizza. Enough to make a lesser woman break out into a sweat. She pulls a slice apart from the rest of the pie and takes a big bite, forgetting how hot their pizza is when they deliver it. She fans her mouth as the roof of her mouth burns. But it feels good. This all feels good. So...normal.


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

It's morning now. She's refreshed after taking the longest, hottest shower of her life, in the master bathroom. Something she's never done, thinking the room was some sort of shrine to a time that was much simpler. As she's learning, the time was anything but. And keeping the illusion going is nothing more than another way to prolong the pain.

She makes her way through the house, touching the walls, feeling the coolness of the hardwood against her feet. It's as though she's seeing it for the first time. Maybe she is, noticing the cracks for the first time. The chipped paint. All the things that looked perfect from afar that are now flawed, though not fatally, closeup.

She stops in the kitchen and fills the kettle with ice cold water, placing it on the stove to heat. While she waits, she checks her e-mail. She considers checking the news sites, but decides against it. She is just starting to feel better, not to move past what's happened, but to accept it. The last thing she needs is to slide backwards toward the way she felt before, that sense of helplessness as she watched her life unravel bfore her eyes.

She is lost in deep thought as the tea kettle whistles, demanding her attention. As she pours the steaming water into her mug, and waits for the tea to steep, she watches as the clear water turns various shades of brown.

Olivia wasn't always a tea drinker. More of a coffee with a dash of cream and two packets of raw sugar type of woman. For years she chose caffeine over herbal stimulation, and it was quite by accident that she switched to a much calmer drink.

Fitz, he likes tea. Coffee sometimes, when he desparately needs a pick-me-up. It was a particularly rough day on the trail. During a time when Mellie was being accused of having an affair, something she later nearned was true, and they weren't getting much sleep. They, meaning she and her team. Mellie, she was sleeping just fine.

It was the wee hours of the morning at a hotel bar. She can't remember which; after awhile, they all started to blend together. She was sitting in a booth toward the back, in a dimly lit space where she could work without being noticed.

She was on her fifth cup of coffee, hands shaking as she worked on her laptop. Her eyes were barely open as she crafted their strategy for making the story go away. That's when she saw him enter, and quickly looked down at her computer, pretending to not notice him.

At this time, they were still doing the dance. Trying to convince themselves there wasn't something more going on between them. The moments they shared though, they were heated and sexually charged with all the pent up passion they felt, but refused to acknowledge.

He saw her though. Saw her and sauntered right over to her table, seating himself close to her, too close to her as she could feel the heat coming off of his body; she knew he could feel the same.

"Hi," he says it as though it's okay. It's the most natural thing in the world for him to be sitting in a hotel bar at three in the morning with his campaign manager.

"Hi," she says back, hoping if she ignores him long enough, he'll get the point and leave her to her work. He doesn't. Instead, he just watches her as though she's the most fascinating person he's ever seen.

The quiet is interrupted when the bartender approaches the table with the cup of hot water and herbal tea Fitz ordered. "Here you go, sir."

"Thank you," Fitz answers, never looking away from Olivia. He drops the bag of tea in the mug and watches as the water turns various shades of brown. He uses the string to move it up and down a few times, and it's that motion that draws Olivia's attention.

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

"Tea? Is that tea?"

"Yes. What's wrong with tea?" He's genuinely curious about her take because she sounds so amazed that someone would choose that over coffee.

"It's just, I guess I pictured you for the black coffee type." The underlying meaning isn't lost on either of them. "It's surprising, that's all."

He takes his time removing the teabag from the mug, dipping it a few extra times before laying it to the side. "You should try it sometime." He slides the mug closer to her, motioning for her to take a sip, but she makes a face and shakes her head.

"No thanks."

"Just taste it."

"No. I don't like tea."

"Why not?"

"Because my mom used to make me drink it when I was sick and I still associate it with that. So, thank you, but no." She returns her attention to her computer as he watches her. Despite herself, she smiles and tries to shake off the feelings his gaze is giving her. It's a combination of butterflies in her stomach and deep yearning for his touch, which always sends electricity through her body, making her feel alive.

"You drink too much coffee."

"Well, I have to stay alert and on top of my game if we're going to win this election."

"But I don't want you dying of a caffeine induced heart attack either. Trust me, I make the best tea. A splash of milk, two sugars and lots of love."

"Is love the secret ingredient?"

"Yes it is. I added a little extra just for you." He waits for a reaction from her as their eyes meet and stay locked for an inappropriately long time.

She doesn't break eye contact as she reaches for the mug and takes a sip of his tea, smiling a bit as she swallows, raising an eyebrow.

"Told ya."

His tea is no longer his own. She slides her of mug of coffee to the side and sips from his tea. He orders another mug for himself, and doctors it up again, this time, with a little less love. Because it's his cup and he's flawed and undeserving of her. He can only see his imperfections, just as she can only see hers.

They stay close together that night. Drinking tea. Working. He never asks what she's doing and she never tells him because what's unspoken is the trust. He trusts her and believes what she says and does is always right. She trusts him to execute her plans to perfection.

Just before dawn, when everyone else is getting their last few moments of peaceful rest, she closes her laptop and looks up, meeting his eyes. There's a sparkle there, a barely noticeable smirk across his lips. Although she cannot see herself, she's sure her expression matches his.

He stands, extending a hand to her, which she gladly accepts. There is a moment, less than a second where they just look at each other, frozen by the power of the electricity flowing between them. He grabs her laptop, tucking it safely underneath his arm and leads her outside of the hotel bar. That is when they rejoin the real world, him, dropping her hand and she, instantly feeling his absence.

She holds out her hand for him to return her laptop, but he just shakes his head. She knows he will see her to her room and that their footsteps will drag along the carpeted corridor as they try to prolong their inevitable separation. She knows that when she opens her door, he will wait for her to step safely inside, she will close that door and lean against it, trying to regain her composure. He knows that when he sneaks into his room, he will head straight for the shower, a cold one, as he thinks of what his life should be.

Olivia stirs in the last teaspoon of sugar and takes a sip. It's still not like his. She swears the way he makes tea for her is always better. She takes the imperfect cup of tea and leaves the kitchen, making her way back to the attic.

After going through her father's things, and the term "father" seeming wrong, yet so right because he was the man who raised her, she starts going through her mother's things. She saved her for last, knowing there are secrets, some of which she has to prepare herself to discover.

Carolyn. Carolyn's side of the attic is a disorganized mess. Not that it's any sort of surprise. Olivia could always tell when her mother did things. Everything had the look of being slightly rushed, askew, or simply a little more careless. She takes a deep breath as she tries to figure out where to begin.

There are pictures. Perhaps the beginning of a scrabook. Organized by year. Plenty of pictures of her with Rowan during happy times. Vacations. Dates. Candid moments that two people in love shared. There are family photographs of Olivia as a child. Carolyn's smile is never the same in those. There is something forced about her smile, like it is so wide her face could break at any moment.

Picture after picture paints the story of a false life. Where love does not exist between her parents. But, some of the pictures tell another story. Of a woman who loved, in love, a woman who wants desparately a life she could not have.

Carolyn wasn't the type to keep journals. Something Olivia suspects she learned from Rowan; never document anything. Still, there are little things here and there. Phrases written in the margins of her notes. Dreams of a different kind of future. A Supreme Court appointment, that was her dream.

Her mother's life was far less exciting that Olivia had imagined. Parents died when she was young. Raised in foster homes. Worked her way through college and then law school. On paper, pretty close to perfect.

It's been a long day and as Olivia returns everything to its place, she wonders if she should save any of these things, or throw them away. Although it's been years, she's never gone through the house and removed any of their memories. She's updated a few things here and there, like the television and security system, but for the most part, everything else is in tact.

It's nearly midnight when she makes her way to her bedroom. It's quiet. Almost too quiet. Tomorrow will be a different kind of day. It will be the day when she approaches family she thought was dead.

Huck had finally given her the "okay" after completing his investigation. She is sure he'll be nearby tomorrow, watching her every move, and it's comforting. He's been her personal protector for years and probably knows her better than she knows herself.

She crawls into bed and glances at the clock. She wants to call Fitz, but knows it's risky. He is the one who usually calls her and there's no need to break that tradition tonight.

Sleep will be slow to come, if it comes at all. Her mind races with endless scenarios of how her meeting will go tomorrow. She may be shunned altogether. Even though the man who raised her as his own is not be her biological father, she feels the need to be accepted by them.

She once thought she was just a tree stump, something with no limbs or leaves, more of an ending than a beginning or the root of something that could grow. Now, there are branches, there are leaves, there is the promise of generations to come.

She closes her eyes, willing sleep to come. She needs to be at her best tomorrow. It does not come. Instead, her eyes spring back open and she stares at the ceiling. When the sun slowly announces its presence as it makes its way above the horizon, her eyes are still open. Her mind still racing.

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, taking a moment to rest her head in her hands. Allowing herself a minute to gather her thoughts, to prepare, to reflect. Then, she is off to begin a day unlike any other.


	18. Chapter 17

Anon28, I want to address your comment specifically. Olivia wanted to give a no holds barred interview. I thought that was the best thing for her because her life has always been so full of secrets. This is a new chapter for her life an opportunity to cleanse herself of her past sins and move forward with her life with newfound clarity.

Fitz announced his divorce, so Olivia wasn't necessarily speaking out of turn. He's always been more willing to admit the truth than Olivia. It is meant to be unsettling. Olivia is operating in the dark, not knowing what's a ahead and that's an unusual place for her.

**Chapter 17**

Olivia takes her time and flatirons each section of her hair, carefully, watching as the smoke from the hot iron disappears into thin air. Though she takes great care with her appearance daily, she puts a little extra effort this morning. To prolong the inevitable, to allow herself to deal with the fear of the unknown. Her grandparents are an unknown entity to her and this meeting, it could go very badly. Or it may go well.

She's questioned herself more than once. They aren't blood, James, the man who raised her, wasn't her blood, but he was the only father she's truly known. Family, as she's learned through her bond with her Gladiators, is so much more blood and she owes it to herself to face these people who've ignored her.

Olivia's ringing cell phone provides a welcome distraction from the thoughts running through her mind. She places her flatiron on the counter and turns her attention to the display on her cell phone. "Huck," she answers.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You saw the documents?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to see them?"

"I am." In the gap of silence is his declaration that he'll be there for her, with her. Trailing a safe distance behind. Watching over her, as always. "How are...things?"

And that's the thing about the way they communicate. They can practically read each other's mind, hearing the words that are unspoken, knowing what the other needs before they're asked. "Quieter. The President, he's doing well. With the press. But you probably already know that. Better coverage for you. We're waiting for the First Lady to make her next move. She's been too quiet."

Olivia nods. A quiet Mellie, as everyone knows, is a plotting, dangerous Mellie. A Mellie who is in self-preservation mode is perhaps the most dangerous of all. But Mellie is not her concern. Mellie can be contained. Mellie will always be Mellie, her own worst enemy. "Harrison has a file, but only use it if you have to."

"I know."

And again, it's quiet. Olivia puts her phone on speaker and places it on the bathroom counter. She returns her attention to her hair, smoothing it with a little extra hair product. Huck, sometimes he just needs space. Needs space and time to figure things out. To figure out how to say things because Olivia knows he's holding something back. Working up the courage to say something she may not want to hear. So, she gives him the quiet. Gives him the space. She hears him take a deep breath as she's finishing her hair, and she picks up her cell phone, taking it off speaker and putting it up to her ear.

"There's something else."

"What?"

"There's talk within the party about you. Your race. How it's not-"

"I expected that." She's relieved because this is a complication she foresaw and knows her team is prepared to handle. "I've dealt with it all my life and I knew I'd have to deal with it when this came out. Let me guess, more polling data has come out-"

"Right. We limited the pool the first time and asked a very specific question. We're starting to see a shift in numbers."

"Send the data to me, please. I'll take a look."

"How do you want to deal with it?"

"Harrison will deal with it." Olivia slips on a pair of heels, checking herself out in the full length mirror. "I've got to go."

"Are you leaving now?"

"Shortly."

"Okay. I'll send you the data. Bye, Liv."

"I'll see you soon." She ends the call as she gives herself one last look in the mirror. She takes a kleenex and wipes, roughly, at the lipstick she's chosen. She replaces with a more neutral tone, one that can barely be seen with the naked eye.

For a moment she thinks of calling Fitz. Then again, he probably has the same polling data and the same concerns, although he won't express them to her. He wants to navigate this on his own.

She expects things to get worse, much worse, as the divorce moves forward. That's when all hell will break loose and the more extreme members of the Republican party will show themselves for who they really are. If she had her way, Fitz would have waited until after the election, but he wants out and she can't blame him. She will no longer stand in his way.

Her father's parents were wealthy, having made millions in the defense industry. They'd retired long ago, before she began her career in DC. They'd managed to fly under the radar, but their reputations were legendary. So much of what made them successful is what made her successful; they know where the bodies are buried. They are the holders of many secrets.

When she went to bed the night before, she was unsure of what she wanted from the meeting. It wasn't acceptance, because by not reaching out to her when she was sure they knew of her existence, they made it clear they had no desire to know her. It wasn't love because she didn't know them. In the middle of the night, at the time she normally wakes up briefly, what she wanted was suddenly clear. She wanted an explanation. She wanted to know why they never stepped up.

She pulls up to their house. Mansion is more accurate. It's merely 20 minutes from her parents' home. A lovely neighborhood where, judging from what she's seen thus far, they are likely the only people of color. She waits several moments before exiting the car, giving Huck time to park a comfortable distance away.

"Here goes nothing," she says to no one in particular.

The walk toward the house seems like the shortest in history. The door flies open before she can knock, never giving her the chance to mentally prepare herself. Or the chance to straighten her spine, or her clothing, or smooth her hair one last time. No, she is face to face with a housekeeper whose smiling face is welcoming. Olivia breathes a sigh of relief for the extra moments she'll have to gather herself.

"May I help you?"

"Um, hello. I was looking for-"

And she appears before Olivia can finish her sentence. She looks just like her pictures. Vanessa Cartwright is tall, imposing even. Elegantly dressed and Olivia can tell this is her normal attire. Perfectly tailored suit accentuating all of her curves. Flawless hair and makeup. "Olivia Pope." Vanessa extends her hand, which Olivia does not accept, so she lets it drop to her side.

The words rolled of Vanessa's tongue as Olivia tries to decipher the expression on her face and the tone in her voice. It's all so neutral, like a master poker player sizing up her latest opponent...or victim.

"May I come in?"

A glance to the housekeeper by Vanessa, an unspoken command and she quickly disappears. A stepping to the side, a silent invitation to enter. The sound of the heavy door closing behind her. The click of a lock. Every detail is captured by Olivia's memory and saved for later, when she will recall this meeting over and over again.

"Follow me." Vanessa leads Olivia to a light and airy living area off to the left. The open french doors, the sheer curtains, the gentle breeze, give the room a different sort of feeling. Something inviting. Welcoming even. And Olivia lets go of the breath she didn't know she was holding. Vanessa gestures for Olivia to sit, and she does. They both take the next few seconds of silence to size each other up. Politely. "What brings you here today?"

"I'm sure you already know the answer to that question," Olivia challenges, looking the older woman dead in her eyes.

Vanessa nods as the housekeeper enters the room, carrying a tray of tea and a few cookies. "Please, help yourself."

"No thank you."

Vanessa shrugs her shoulders as she takes her time making her cup of tea. Tasting it a couple of times before adding more of this and more of that. While she does, Olivia says nothing, well aware of the game Vanessa is playing. Wanting her to feel uncomfortable as she takes her time to formulate a response. Finally, she takes another sip and makes a face of pleasure, "Perfect." She looks at Olivia, "What is it that you'd like to know about your father?"

"Why'd you abandon him?" What she really meant to ask is why they abandoned her. Why they let her live all these years alone when one appearance, or phone call, or something could've made all the difference in her world.

Vanessa doesn't answer right away. It's gamesmanship at its finest. "Your father had a very complicated relationship with us."

"Every child has a complicated relationship with their parents."

"True, but we had additional complications to deal with."

Olivia hears the words, so casual, as though it's perfectly natural for one to disavow their child, or their grandchild for that matter. "So you let him go?"

"It had to be done." The older woman tilts her head to the side, raises an eyebrow, and awkwardly smiles as she takes another sip of tea. This time, with a slight, annoying, slurp, meant to distract. Even she doesn't believe what she said.

"You found out he was gay?"

"More or less."

This conversation could go so many different ways. It could become a lecture on tolerance and acceptance. It could become a screaming match of demons unleashed on both sides. Or, it could become an intelligent conversation between an adult who is just discovering who she is, and another who needs to hear of her pain. "I understand you may have had a complicated relationship with my father, but when he died, why didn't you come for me? Do you have any idea what it's like to have your entire life shattered and feel like you have no one?"

"Yes, I do, Olivia. But you're a big girl. You can't dwell on the pain. What's done is done."

"You make it sound so easy, and it isn't. The emptiness is always there."

"Then fill it with other things. Don't be a victim. It's not who you are."

"Do you even care what it did to me?" Olivia feels her temper rising. And she sees herself. Just push the emotions aside, as she's done so much in her life, and never deal with them.

"We had our careers. We had no business raising another child after the two we had. We made what we thought was the right decision at that time."

Olivia takes a few deep breaths to calm herself. "Do you regret it?"

"No, and you shouldn't either. Look at you. You're the great Olivia Pope." And the words, her tone, her enunciation, there's a hint of pride. Vanessa's face softens, "Would you be who you are if you had stayed with us? You're tough. Smart. You're a fighter. Your father was weak. Smart. But he gave up too easily."

"Haven't you ever wondered about me? Couldn't you have sent a letter? Something? Anything?"

"And said what? Hello, we're your grandparents. Good luck, but we do not wish to be contacted?"

"You didn't even come to the funeral."

"We were there. In the back. You didn't see us."

"I guess I didn't."

"So, why now? Why are we taking this trip down memory lane? It seems like you have more important things to deal with at this particular juncture in your life." Vanessa stares at Olivia as she waits for an answer.

"Because I'm not really the 'great' Olivia Pope. I'm not the 'great' anything. I'm just a regular who wears a great mask and I need to find out how I got here."

The honesty in her words stun Vanessa, so much so that her mask briefly slips, exposing a mother who is in pain. A grandmother paralyzed by her sorrow, but fighting to conceal it. "Olivia, we all make choices and not always the best, but we do the best we can." Olivia chuckles bitterly at the cliché. "Sometimes, I do lack originality." Vanessa reaches across the coffee table that separates them and starts to grab Olivia's hand, but she pulls back. "You don't always have to be great, just let the world think you are and when you need a pity party, have one."

"That's all you have to say? After all these years of not saying a single word to me, of not acknowledging my existence, you want me to have private pity parties? I'm hurt, Vanessa. I am so hurt by what you've done to me. By what you've all done to me. I have no idea who I am or where I came from, and you don't seem to care." Olivia's voice is even as she lets go of the words that have been building up. "Other kids had family come to their school events. I had Cyrus and my guardians. Other people had their family sitting in the audience for graduation. I had Cyrus and my guardians. And they took good care of me, but where was my family? I was an orphan and you left it that way so you could what? Make a lot of money?"

"Like I said, Olivia, we all make choices." A long, awkward silence passes between them. Vanessa stands, smoothing her skirt. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

When Olivia doesn't acknowledge her words, Vanessa turns and leaves the room. Olivia stands up and looks around the room. There are family photographs on the fireplace mantle, but none of her father. None of her mother. Of her. She is startled when she turns around and meets the very awkward smile of Vanessa, who returns, nervously playing with her hands.

"I don't see the point of keeping a reminder of my biggest regret." Vanessa's eyes, which seemed so hard and cold just minutes before, are now filled with unshed tears. "Come, I want to show you something." Vanessa extends a hand to Olivia who, this time, accepts. She stops in front of the sofa, and on the coffee table is a large book. Vanessa picks it up and wordlessly gives it to Olivia, who gasps when she opens the first page.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Olivia's eyes dart back and forth from Vanessa to the leather-bound book resting on the coffee table. She knows what it is, and rolls her eyes, turning her head slightly so Vanessa doesn't see. She knows this game; it's one of the oldest tricks in the book. Hastily putting together a scrapbook that implies, "I love you," and "see, I was thinking about you." To most, it is a meaningful display of affection. To Olivia it means pictures have been scanned, archives have been raided for newspaper clippings, and just like the house, it is an illusion.

Olivia refuses to show her hand, smiles politely, and lets Vanessa tell her lies as they both sit on the sofa. Vanessa grabs the book and flips to the first page. She uses a tone that's well rehearsed, as though she expected Olivia to come to her at some point and made sure she was prepared. "He was 21 here. All the promise in the world. This one," Vanessa says, picking up the picture of Olivia with her parents, "he sent to us after your first birthday." She gently places the photograph back in its place, straightening it out so it looks like it was never touched.

What Olivia notices is not the image on the photograph, which she's seen before, it's the little things. The resolution that's not quite crisp. The color that's slightly off. It's not an original, of that she is certain. She morphs into full fixer mode, putting her best poker face to use. What she can't figure out, not yet, is the why of it all.

Vanessa turns the page carefully, as though it's something that's so precious to her, she fears damaging it. So, she's gentle. Caring. Loving. Adds a slightly trembling hand for effect. It's a beautiful performance, worthy of a standing ovation.

For an hour, Vanessa walks Olivia through the book. There are pictures. Programs. All things that relate to her, the grandchild she never claimed. There are newspaper clippings. Magazine articles. All the while Olivia pretends to be enthralled by the story being laid out before her.

When the reach the final page, Olivia looks Vanessa in the eyes with an intensity that normally makes people quiver, but not Vanessa, and says, very calmly "So, you kept up with me," she purposely leaves out the word _pretends_. "What does that even mean?" As she waits for a response, she looks around the room once more, this time with eyes that are suspicious, eyes that are searching for the reality because she knows something is "off", she sees the perfection of it all. The unnatural perfection. If she peels back the layers, there she will find the truth.

"You're smart enough to figure it out."

"You don't know me well enough to say that."

"Fair enough."

"Where is your husband, by the way?"

Without much emotion in her voice, Vanessa says, "He travels. For work."

"I thought you were retired?"

"I am. He...is not."

Heaviness fills the air between them. They both hear the lie in her words. Both have been in Washington long enough to know that what's unspoken is the classified status of his mission. And then it hits Olivia.

She's seen this act before. The house with the occupants that's a little too perfect. The government contract that pays a little too well and spans many administrations from both sides of the aisle. The story that's a little too neat; too well-crafted.

"How long have you been spies?"

A brief hesitation before Vanessa says, "You, Olivia Pope, have a very vivid imagination."

"And you're not answering the question."

"We are patriotic Americans. We do what we have to do for our country."

The two women stare at each other, waiting for the other to blink. Minutes pass. Olivia knows she's struck a nerve just as Vanessa knows she's caught in her own lie. And the time ticks away slowly as each tries to think of their next move.

Strangely, Olivia is not afraid of what Vanessa may do. Knowing Huck is around is comforting. But, there's still this feeling within her that no matter what goes down Vanessa will not hurt her. Not physically anyway.

"Are we finished playing this game?" Olivia asks. "I mean, you're not the sweet, innocent grandmother and I'm not the naïve grandchild. So, can we just stop and talk as women?"

Vanessa nods. "You have to understand, children were not in the cards for us."

"But you already raised two children."

"That fit the narrative. Raising a third, did not. Olivia, you know how hard it is now for people of color, especially women, to make it in DC. You have to practically be perfect. I'm sure your phone hasn't been ringing off the hook since the world found out about you and the President."

"We're not talking about the President."

"And you're so idealistic, like the him. I can see why you fell for him."

"Don't change the subject, Vanessa. You made a choice and now you think some hastily put together scrapbook erases what you did to me? I get it. I know DC and I know you're spies-"

"I never said we're spies."

"You never said you weren't. But that's beside the fact. I get it, your job was top secret, but we both know we travel in the same circles and I could be trusted with the truth. It shouldn't have come down to me contacting you."

"But it did. And I'm sorry."

She's not really sorry, not about what they did. Not about ignoring her existence. She's sorry about getting caught. She's sorry about being trapped. Olivia can practically see the wheels turning in Vanessa's head to explain away what they did. Olivia just watches her, refusing to look away, making the older woman shift and whither underneath her judgement.

"Everything is so black and white with you. Good or bad."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Maybe I don't. But you don't know anything about us either. So I guess that makes us even."

"Nothing makes us even. I see you in this neighborhood, this house, your gardener, housekeeper; you probably have a staff that will do any and everything you ask. You'll disappear on a mission for awhile, and come back to your fancy parties and exclusive stores."

"Is that Armani you're wearing?"

"Yes, it is. And your point is?"

Vanessa moves closer to Olivia, almost getting into her face. "There's a reason your boy – what's his name, Huck?" Olivia flinches. "Yes, Huck didn't find out about us. I'd tread very lightly if I were you."

A chill runs down Olivia's spine. And she backs off. "So, today was a wasted trip?"

"Depends on your expectations. I'm glad to have finally met you and I have to admit, you're quite formidable." Olivia doesn't respond. "Why don't you sit here for a moment while I get some lemonade?" She neither waits for nor expects a response from Olivia. She gives her the space and time Olivia needs.

Olivia's eyes follow Vanessa out of the room. She feels the vibration of her phone and picks it up, only to see a message from Huck, asking if she's okay. She has, as they've previously discussed, 15 seconds to respond to his "distress signal". _I'm fine_, she types, "not really" is what she leaves out.

Her expectations were tempered before she met Vanessa, but now, they've been crushed. Though she'd never admit it, she hoped that today would lead to some sort of greater connection. Maybe not grandmother to grandchild, but something more than what she's getting now. But she decides to make the most of the situation, to add Vanessa to her ever growing rolodex of DC connections she may have to use at some point in time. So, she buttons the to two buttons of her jacket, which were previously undone, pulls her clothing more tightly around her, and waits for Vanessa. And when she re-enters, she pastes a fake smile across her face.

So the two women sit down and talk over lemonade and later dinner, both so skeptical, both so phony. Conversation is forced. Words are carefully selected. The illusions that hide the secrets; the lies the cover the truth.

Vanessa can't quite read Olivia. A master poker player, she assumes. Olivia smiles at all the right times and nods in all the right places, but the wheels are turning. Olivia doesn't trust her, that much is true, but there's more to what she's not saying. She's storing things away for a rainy day. Vanessa smirks, admiring her "game".

"So, tell me about Uncle Junior."

"A little bit of him goes a long way. Everything is a joke, but I guess that's what's expected of the youngest. He's a lobbyist. Wife. Two kids. Lovely family. You can meet them if you'd like."

"Mmm." Uncle Junior, according to Huck's research, is indeed crazy and funny, but he's more than that. A serial philanderer. Father of two illegitimate kids. Barely holding onto his job. Suffers from a gambling addiction. Deeply in debt. His wife, one of the most powerful attorneys in the city, has her own lover. Each day though, she fights to hang onto her family, and each night, if only for an hour, she has some sort of contact with her lover whether it's physical or a phone call. This is one messed up family.

"I'd only had business dealings with your mother. This was before they got married, of course. She was tough. Smart. But tough. Always looking for the loophole. A master with words, using plenty of them without saying much of anything."

Her parents had an understanding, Vanessa explained. Carolyn could live her own life, discreetly, and James could live his, even more discreetly. But he denied himself the luxury of living an honest and true life. He knew what it would mean to his family and career if word got out. Instead, he threw himself into the role of being Olivia's father and played it to the best of his ability.

There were always rumors around DC that Rowan was her biological father. That he and Carolyn had been together for years. But those rumors and whispers were quieted as soon as anyone saw James with his baby girl. The way he doted on her. Held her. Loved her. It was evident to all that she was indeed his.

They talked late into the night, and Olivia made a mental "follow-up" list. Things to have Huck check out. Questions to ask at a later date. Tidbits to confirm with Joanne. Lies to reconcile with the truth.

It is just after midnight when a yawning Olivia decides to leave. There will be no hugs or kisses, or promises of tomorrow. Just pleasantries exchanged. And then goodbye, which may mean forever.

Olivia drives back to her parents' home slowly, replaying the day over and over in her head. Huck follows her, watching her pull into the driveway and waits for her to turn on the porch light before driving off into the night. She'd told him he could stay, but he said he needed to get back to work.

She kicks off her shoes and sinks into the couch, glancing at the clock, wondering if it's too late to call Fitz. As in sync as ever, her burner phone rings.

"Hi," he says, which sounds almost like a relieved sigh.

"Hi. How are you?"

"Missing you. How are you?"

"Missing you." She brings her feet onto the sofa, grabbing the blanket that hangs over the back and covers herself. "How are your numbers?"

"Fine. We have a plan."

"Do you need any help?"

"You'll be the first to know if I do. Are you still at your parents'?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to see you. Spend some time with you. Maybe I can come on Friday?"

"We'll see."

He hears it in her voice. She sounds tired, but her wheels are turning. "How's the research going?"

It always surprises her, how well he can read her, even through the phone. So, she tells him. Everything. She tells him about her fathers, her grandmother, her suspicions.

And he listens. Doesn't offer opinions unless asked. Doesn't judge. Just listens. And it dawns on her that he is her best friend. Her confidante. Her rock. There is no more running from it, the love. Years ago, her father was killed, having never truly loved because he was hiding. Years ago, her mother gave up loving openly, for Rowan's career. She will not make the same mistake.

"You can come by on Friday."

Her words startle Fitz. He smiles into the phone. "I love you."

"I love you too."


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The house, abandoned for so many years, is beginning to resemble something close to a home, coming to life with each loving gesture. Dusting and polishing each surface, not like that of a hired hand, but as someone who cares for it. Fluffing the pillows, vacuuming every rug, waxing every floor. Giving it the attention of something that has been neglected for far too long. When she finishes, she looks it over, examining her work. Carolyn would be proud.

Later, Fitz will arrive and they will fall into their familiar rhythm of domesticity. On the trail, during their private moments, voyeurs could be forgiven for thinking they were a married couple. There was a rhythm to their actions, two pieces of a well-oiled machine, working together toward a common goal. At the same time, one look at each other and they could make make an entire room fade into the background as though it never existed in the first place.

In private, there was an unmatched serenity, an ability to make any hotel room "home" for a night. At night, she would kick off her shoes and somehow they always ended up near the television with the toes pointing in opposite directions. He always picked them up, and set them neatly next to his. Her jackets would lay carelessly across the back of a random chair or sofa, until he arrived when he would hang it up next to his jacket. There were the little things they'd do for each other, picking up the slack, being each other's strength; there are the little things they do for each other to this day. Never, in a million years, did Olivia see herself falling in love with another's woman's husband, a man who is her spiritual mate. Yet, here she is, head over heels.

She falls onto the sofa, exhausted. For the first time in what seems like days and with more than a bit of dread, she turns on the news. She half expects every lead story to be focused on her, yet she's pleasantly surprised to see that's not the case. In fact, it's the third or fourth story covered on the major news networks. What she does notice, however, is the direction coverage is taken. Going from "facts" to opinion, in the form of assembled experts to give their take on everything from how the affair will affect his legacy, to how race will affect the voters the following year, to the effect interracial relationships have on society.

After awhile, she turns off the television, tossing the remote on the coffee table. Natural instinct is to whip out her laptop and start working on a plan. To compile a list of her own experts to refute some of the more outrageous claims. To get indignant inside, while maintaining a calm and cool professional demeanor. But she's the client, so she can do none of those things.

She hears the garage door as it opens and checks her watch, surprised that he's here so early. He knows where the key is hidden, so she doesn't get up and rush to him. She waves to Tom who does a routine check of the house.

Then, it's Fitz. He has a different sound to his walk, a much lighter step. He knows where she is, and before long, he's wrapping his arms around her from behind, enhaling her scent, kissing her neck. He lets out a heavy sigh, the weight of his world wearing him down. She lets him hold her for as long as he needs, feeling the tension as it leaves his body, and hers.

"I've missed you," he mumbles as he squeezes her a little tighter.

She closes her eyes at his admission, feeling the same way. Taking this moment to just feel him, his presence and let it wash over her. Calm her. Because she hurts so much and loves him so much and wants him so much. And at this moment, there's not much she can do about it. So she allows herself to revel in his presence.

"I've missed you too," she finally answers when she rediscovers her voice.

He makes his way around to the front of the sofa and sits next to her. She leans her head on his shoulder and they sit this way for the longest time. Breathing together. Taking in the silence.

"We're working on a deal with Mellie. She'll fight it, of course, but I have an ace in the hole."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Oh, Ms. Pope, you never forget anything."

"The folder?"

"_The_ folder. I haven't opened it yet, if that's what you're thinking. I just know it's there and if it starts to get ugly, I will use it."

"What's the timetable?"

"I filed in California, so it can go quickly if she goes quietly." He takes a deep breath and starts to speak, but she beats him to it.

"Are you hungry? And no, I didn't cook. I ordered Italian."

"Come to think of it, yes, I am."

"Good. The table's set. I'll meet you in the dining room." She starts to leave, "Oh, and could you please light the candles? Matches are on the table."

In the kitchen, Olivia removes the food that has been warming in the oven. Her life is changing and she's not entirely unhappy about it. When you've been as lonely as she for so long, the thought that maybe she'll finally be able to share it with someone, is exciting. But, life's taught her never to get too excited because there are variables. Like Mellie. Like the American public, if she can't change the tide of their opinion, not of her, but of race, everything could change.

Her mind is racing when she feels him enter the kitchen behind her. Without turning she says, "Could you open that bottle of wine," she gestures toward the bottle on the counter, "and I'll take this into the other room."

She tries to brush past him, but he doesn't let her. He bends down, lifting her chin with his index finger and kisses her. Not in an out-of-control way, but a soft peck that lingers, telling her it will be okay. She gives him a little smile, then continues to the dining room.

Though the dining room table is long, they sit next to each other, candles providing the only light in the room. In something of a role reversal, Olivia sits at the head of the table, which is fine with Fitz. The way the candlelight bounces around the room, it gives him the perfect view of her.

"I never asked you how you would feel about moving into the White House. I always assumed you would, but I never asked."

Olivia tilts her head to the side the way she does when she's thinking about how to phrase a response in the most gentle way. Before their new level of understanding, Fitz would get nervous when Olivia took too long to answer, but he's never been more confident about her love for him and their future together. "I'm a private person, Fitz. The White House, it's a lot-"

"It is a lot, but-"

"No buts, it's just a lot. And I don't know if I can live there. I like my life, well, not right now, but for the most part. I just, I don't know that I'm ready to live under that kind of a microscope."

He takes her hand, rubbing his thumb against her palm. There's so much he wants to say to her. Words of reassurance. Words of comfort, but this time, he won't push. He holds her hand, linking their fingers, and takes another forkful of food.

The rest of their dinner is uneventful, filled with small talk and gossip. He'd asks, very pointedly, what information she has on the senators who seemed to break their neck to speak in support of her. She gives him a coy smile, but doesn't answer.

As the hours go by and the dinner table has been cleared and the dishes washed, they settle in on the sofa. He pulls her toward him and wraps both arms around her. "I could really get used to this."

"Me too."

"What's on your mind, Liv?"

"What makes you think something's on my mind?"

"You can't hide from me."

She takes a deep breath as positions herself so she can look straight in his eyes. "You know what I always wanted?"

"What?"

"A big family. I wanted family reunions. Dirty girl talk. Fights at the dinner table." He squeezes her a little tighter. "There was a part of me that thought I'd finally have those things."

"You have something better. You have your Gladiators who will fight for you. You have our mutual pain-in-the-ass, Cyrus and despite everything he's done, he loves you. There's Joanne. There's me. Livvy, you are surrounded by so much love. And you give it right back to us, which is the most amazing part."

"How is it that you manage to make everything okay?"

"I don't. I just love you. We're together now. No matter what."

The words he speaks are true. She knows it. And smiles. "Together, no matter what."

"Can I stay with you tonight?" He asks, bracing himself for her "no". "It's late. I just want to lie next to you-"

"Yes."

"I can stay?"

"I want you to stay." She extends a hand to him and leads him to her bedroom.

He kisses her lightly, before stepping into the en suite. She's seen him repeat the same routine a thousands times. And she stands in the doorway and watches him as though it's the first time. First, he brushes his teeth, with the toothbrush she gave him the first night he stayed in the house with her. Then, he washes his face with her favorite soap, using cold water to rinse with the hope he'll be able to mimic her flawless skin and a gentle moisturizer. He does a "pit" check and wrinkles his nose at scent he detects.

"I'll just be in the other bathroom."

She leaves him to his own devices and twenty minutes later, they're back in her bedroom. She's turning down the sheets and he's drying himself off. He drops the towel, giving her a nice view of his toned upper body, and as her eyes travel downward, they land on his boxer briefs. She's happy. This is happy. They slip easily into the bed. He looks over at her, and she feels his eyes on her, as she always does. She tries to stifle a smile, but cannot.

"What?"

"I want to make love with you, but I'm so tired."

"I'm tired too."

"Uh oh, are we becoming one of those couples?"

"What do you mean?"

"No more sex." She laughs heartily at his comment. They've never had a problem with a lack of passion or sex. In fact, they've always had an abundance. They can barely keep their hands off each other as it is. No, there is no danger of them becoming one of those kinds of couples.

She climbs on top of him and kisses him with everything she has in her. She runs her fingers through his hair, slipping her tongue in and out of his mouth, dancing with his. She does this to him purposely, to keep him on his toes. She peppers his lips with pecks, kissing him to punctuate each word. "There. Is. No. Danger. Of. Us. Becoming. Like. One. Of. Those. Couples."

By this time he is in a daze, barely able to breathe. "Okay."

She kisses him one last time before returning to her side of the bed. "You'll get me in the morning."

"Yes, I will. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Fitz." There's no need for I love yous. They both know it. She closes her eyes, letting in the dreams of their life to come.


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Olivia's sleep is broken when she hears the buzz of her cell phone. She blindly reaches for it, squinting as she checks the display. A couple of swipes and taps later, she sees an incoming text message from Joanne. Short and to the point, _Are you okay_? She quickly taps a response, _I am fine_. She places the phone back on the nightstand and turns toward Fitz.

She thinks he's sleeping, and takes the opportunity to slide closer to him. Trace his ribcage with her fingertips, place a gentle kiss on his lips. This is bliss.

He reaches for her hand in the darkness and kisses it. She can feel his smile as it spreads across his face. "Hi."

"Hi." She smiles back at him, tiredly, and lets out a heavy sigh.

"Who was that?" Fitz asks in a groggy voice.

"Who was what?" She tries to play dumb, not wanting to get into it at this moment. She needs...they need silence. They need this time together to just "be".

"Olivia?"

She doesn't answer right away. He gives her the time, gives her the space to gather herself and her thoughts. He rubs the back of his hand against her cheek, soothing her. She has no choice but to lean into his touch. "My parents were killed."

"I know. You told me it was a car accident."

"It wasn't an accident." He sits up completely, leaning against the headboard. She cannot face him. Cannot meet his eyes, even in the darkness. She stares into some distant space, and tells him what she knows.

And the tears flow as she grieves for them, perhaps for the first time. She remembered nothing about their funeral. No crying. She didn't even remember their bodies going into the ground. But tonight, the memories come flooding back to her.

He says nothing as she lets out years worth of pain. He holds her. Caresses her. Tells her without words he's got her; she's okay.

After awhile, the tears dry, the sniffling stops and she tries to pull herself together. She wipes at her eyes roughly, realizing this is the first time he's seen her cry. Usually, she turns away, lowers her head, does something to keep him from seeing her crumbling facade. She tries to turn away, but he doesn't let her. He just holds her tighter and she takes a deep breath. And then another. Followed by another.

She tells him how she's been depressed her whole life. How she didn't talk after her parents died. How it was Cyrus coaxed her out of her shell. She will always owe him for that.

What she paints for him is a picture of the woman. She fills in the blanks and her story, the complete version, explains so much about her.

By the time she's finished, she's exhausted and wants to fall back asleep in his arms. She wants to forget about letting him see her vulnerable. She just wants to forget, but he won't let her.

"Who was that?" He asks again, a little more forceful this time.

"Joanne."

"What'd she want?"

"To make sure I was okay. I'm fine. Can we drop it now and go back to sleep?" It's less of a question than a statement that this conversation is over.

He doesn't say anything, but she can feel his eyes on her. The conversation is not over. "Why do you have that tone?"

"What tone?"

"You know what I'm talking about Olivia. When your voice gets all soft like that, you're feeling guilty about something. What is it?"

Sleep won't be coming anytime soon, so she rolls over and turns on the light on the nightstand. "She never had any kids of her own; it was just me. As soon as I was old enough to leave, I did. I didn't stay in touch and when this whole thing broke, she reached out to me."

"So why do you feel guilty?"

"Because I never thanked her for what she did for me. To tell you the truth, I was angry with her because I thought she was purposely keeping things from me to hurt me."

"But she just wanted to protect you." Olivia nods. "So, let's go see her."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Yes." There it is, that smile that weakens her. The open body language as he pulls her closer to him. The kiss. "I am absolutely out of my mind. So here's what we're going to do," he looks down at her. "Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"You're going to call her in the morning and set up a time for her to come here. We're going to meet with her and you're going to get everything off your chest once and for all."

"Yes, Mr. President." She moves away from him slightly and kisses him ferociously. It says everything she can't say. Everything she feels is transferred from her body to his and back again.

For the rest of the morning they make love, falling into the familiar rhythms and patterns that speak to the perfection of their union. They remember everything about each other, the places on their bodies that elicit the loudest moans, the way they like to be kissed, the games they play. It's something neither has ever and could never forget.

There are countless "I love yous" and "I want to spend the rest of my life with you," declarations that this time will indeed be different because, for once, they are on the same page when it comes to their love. It's weightless, their love. It's without beginning or ending, without stress or doubt because this, what they have, is meant to be. A gift from God, though neither is a strong believer, or maybe a believer at all.

Though they have made love thousands of times, this morning feels different. It is different, like the dawning of a new phase in their lives, together. Even as they take breaks, their hands never lose contact with each other's body.

It's the sound of Fitz's rumbling stomach that causes them to look at the clock, realizing they've spent the entire morning and into the afternoon making love.

"I guess we should shower then eat," Olivia states matter-of-factly, making no move toward the bathroom.

"We should," Fitz says as he yawns.

"Who goes first?"

"Together." And he says it as though it was a stupid question to begin with. There is no way he's letting her out of his sight today. Or the entire weekend for that matter.

Olivia is scrolling through her phone, reading e-mails, when Fitz enters the kitchen. She puts the phone down, giving him her undivided attention.

"Did you call her?"

"I did. She's coming."

"Good."

"You sure about this?"

"Yes, Olivia. I am sure. Now what do you want for lunch?"

"Hmm. Grilled cheese."

"You've got it."

"You know, I could get used to this."

"You'd better because I'm going to spoil you rotten." He walks over to her and kisses her deeply, only pulling away when both of their stomachs growl again. They laugh as he moves away from her and starts to prepare their meal.

As Secret Service completes their final security sweep of the house, of Joanne's car, of her person, Olivia and Fitz wait on the other side of the door, more nervous than either is willing to admit. Tom nods toward the door, and Olivia takes a deep breath, then plasters a smile on her face as she opens the door.

"Hello, Joanne." Olivia pulls her in to a warm embrace, then steps to the side to allow her to enter.

"Hello." Joanne walks inside and stops. She looks around the foyer in awe; it brings back so many memories. It takes her a moment to recover and when she does, she is met by the kind eyes of Fitz. "Mr. President, my apologies. I didn't see you standing there."

He walks over to her and extends his hand. "Please call me Fitz," and they shake on it, her eyes never leaving his. Assessing him.

Olivia's voice breaks through the silence. "Why don't we go into the living room?"

So they do. It's all so pleasant and formal; it's too pleasant, too formal. The space is filled with words unsaid, questions unanswered. And the President, whom Joanne can see, is devoted and deeply in love with Olivia. She can understand why she fell for him too. Olivia's always had a thing about eyes. When she refused to talk, she would communicate with her eyes. She would often stare at people, look them in their eyes and wait for a reaction. It was her way of figuring them out, of labeling them as good or bad. The President, he has kind eyes, knowing eyes, eyes belonging to a man you want to love and you definitely don't want to cross.

"Can I get you anything?" Olivia waits for a response as Joanne snaps out of her thoughts.

"Oh, no thank you. I am curious though, how did it go with Vanessa?"

"Well, she's a character."

"Still crazy, I take it."

"Certifiable. You could have warned me."

"I didn't want to influence you. Vanessa has always been tough. When I knew her, it was all about her career. They're both like that."

"I get it now."

"Get what?"

"Why you didn't want me to go to her."

Fitz sits off to himself in a corner, close enough to Olivia so she feels him near, but far enough away to not be a distraction. His eyes take in the scene and he sees a side of Olivia, in her body language, he's never seen. She's still confident, comfortable even, but she also seems smaller somehow, like a child sitting with their parent. Maybe it's the difference in height, but it seems almost deferential. Whereas Olivia Pope, is always larger than life, the one in command. Or his Livvy, the woman who is every bit his match, who fills every space between, around and within them with love.

His eyes take in Joanne, whose body language is open and loving. It's friendly. Careful. She's navigating around Olivia, being strategic, letting Olivia guide the conversation. For all Olivia's been through, and his heart breaks for her, he knows she was loved.

"Joanne, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything. I didn't understand before. I blamed you for what happened with them. Once I found out about my family, I blamed you for keeping me from them. But you did the right thing."

"You haven't changed all that much, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you were younger, you always wanted to know more. You had to dig deeper. You had to learn things for yourself. I knew you'd uncover the truth in your own time." She smiles at Olivia, widely, "You don't owe me any apologies. You have to do something for me though."

"What?"

"Forgive yourself."

It's the expression on Olivia's face that makes Fitz move from his chair and sit next to her, rubbing her back. It's her silence that speaks volumes. That says she has not forgiven herself. For what? He doesn't know, but suspects it's not just one or two things, it's a lifetime of pain and blame that she's been holding in for years.

"Olivia," Joanne continues, "what happened to them wasn't your fault. What's happening to you now, is not your fault. Whatever you've done in your life, and I know the nature of your job calls for you to do questionable things, put it all behind you. Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yes."

"There's no such thing as a white hat." With those final words, Joanne is standing up and gathering her coat and purse. "It was nice meeting you, Fitz."

Fitz stands and moves to embrace Joanne. He whispers in her ear, "Thank you."

"Take care of my girl," she whispers back, giving him an extra squeeze.

By this time, Olivia is on her feet, her face, unreadable. As Fitz steps to the side, Joanne pulls Olivia toward her. She holds the young woman and rubs her back, just as she did so many years ago. Olivia lets her, closing her eyes. She lets the action soothe her. Olivia finally pulls back, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I love you."

"You too." They stand there for a moment and look at each other. An understanding taking place; acceptance of themselves and each other.

"I can see myself out." Her footsteps move further and further away, until they hear the door open, then close.

"You okay?"

"I'm good, Fitz. I'm really, really good."


	22. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"We have our own experts who've been booked on MSNBC and CNN. We've got Meet the Press and This Week on Sunday. We're in pretty good shape."

"We've got to move the needle, Harrison. I looked at the data you sent me last night. Jesus."

"I know, Liv. He's polling poorly with black men and not doing as well as he needs with black women-"

"He needs those voters to win re-election."

"It could be a lot worse. It's nowhere near our worse case scenario projections."

"I thought we'd already hit bottom-"

"He has to start a national conversation on race-"

"Which will look opportunistic because of the election. And me."

"What do you want us to do?"

"Nothing. I'll be back in a day and we'll figure something out." She hangs up without a goodbye and begins massaging her temple.

"What are you thinking?"

Her head whips around, startled, as Fitz crosses the room and takes her into his arms. "You have to start making noise when you walk."

"I always do. You were just lost in your own head. So, what's going on?"

"Nothing," she lies, maneuvering out of his embrace. "I just, I have to get back to OPA and figure out my next move-"

"Your next move?"

"You. Us. Rowan. My career."

"Don't worry about me. As for us, we're settled. We're together. We're going to stay together. I've already eliminated fifty percent of your concerns. I'm having Rowan investigated. The report should be finished today. Your career, you're the best in the business and people around here will always need you. Not as much as me, of course."

She smiles at him as she kisses him on the lips, "Of course." She moves across the room, adding distance, giving herself space to think. "You need to start a national conversation on race."

"I thought I told you I don't need you fixing me."

"I know, but hear me out."

He nods as he takes a seat on the sofa, giving her all of his attention. "Go ahead."

"My people did some internal polling-"

"Liv-"

She interrupts, knowing exactly what he's going to say next, "We always keep an eye on your polling numbers. You're losing ground with African-American men and women, and with the Jesus contingent running as fast and as far right as they can possibly go, you'll need to make up those numbers. That's your target. Your moderate positions are attractive to this demographic, but we have to speak to them and their concerns."

"You have enough on your plate. Let Cyrus and me handle this."

"I am letting you handle it, but you have to consider it, Fitz. Think about it, some black men are angry because they think you stole one of their own. Some black women, and men too, think it is a Sally Hemmings/Thomas Jefferson relationship." A pained expression crosses Fitz's face, but she keeps going. "Older black people remember the Civil Rights Movement and the struggle. So you should talk about those things. Speak to them directly and allay their concerns. They're things you really care about. Get people to have an actual, real discussion. Challenge them. I mean, look at us."

"What about us?"

"You're the first man I've dated outside my own race. You're the first married man I've been with. Your presence, who you are, the things you've said, changed me. Made me question who I thought I was and I don't regret it. Being with you has been the best decision I've ever made."

This is why he loves her. The challenge. Her brilliance. Her willingness to discuss topics no one else would touch. He doesn't respond to her, but she knows. She knows she's struck the right chord. He blindly reaches into his pocket, grabs his phone and texts Cyrus.

She doesn't need him to tell her whom he's texting or what words he's using. She knows it's Cyrus. She knows that he's asking for polling numbers and a plan. He slips his phone back in his pocket and says, "When's the last time the pool boy was here?"

"First, she's a pool girl and _she_ was here last week."

"Because I was thinking, maybe we could go hot-tubbing."

"Did you bring your trunks?"

"I don't need trunks and you don't need a suit."

"Fitz-"

"Come on Liv. Stop being so uptight."

"The last time I let you talk me into something-"

"But that was fun. You know it was."

"It was painful, that's what it was. My back was killing me for days."

Then he starts doing the things only he knows she likes. The things that cause her mind to go blank. The things that make her body respond in ways that are out of her control. He kisses her forehead. Her eyes. Each side of her neck And that spot behind her right ear, where he allows his lips to linger, and his tongue to glide until she moans.

"I hate you." And she's breathless when she says it. "Fine."

Fitz doesn't want to have this conversation. He and Olivia have been doing so well in their own world. If only for a couple of days. But, it's Sunday evening and he has to go back soon. The country could be burning down around him and he wouldn't know, having told Cyrus to call him only if nuclear war were imminent, and defining the word "imminent" lest there be no confusion.

Monday morning will bring a host of problems. There's Mellie. There is always Mellie who will, no doubt, counter his generous divorce settlement offer with unreasonable demands. That's not a worry as he and his attorney have planned for her pushback. There's his approval rating. Liv's suggestion and Cyrus's plan. Not to mention the economy, women's rights, which he would become more vocal with his support, gay rights, ditto, conflicts in the middle east, and the list goes on and on and on.

But right now, the thing on his mind is the thing that's always on his mind: Olivia. To say he feels a tremendous amount of guilt for what's happening to her would be an understatement. Although she's the strongest woman he's ever known, he can see the toll this is taking on her.

The weekend has been a welcome distraction for them both, but he knows she misses her work. And the reputation she's worked so hard to build is in shambles.

The whole thing with her family has been a nightmare for her. He can also see the good that's come from it. Repairing her relationship with Joanne at the top of the list. Olivia has always been secretive beyond reason. Guarded. It's something she said that's always been a part of her, but knowing she was raised in a family where secrets were the norm, gave her insight into herself.

Then, there's Rowan. While she's been reading her e-mails he's had time to do some reading of his own. From the moment she told him about Rowan, he's had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. A man who's spent so much time working in the intelligence community not only knows where all the bodies are buried, he's likely buried a few of his own.

Rowan is head of B613. B613 can't have family. B613 murders families. They're the most highly trained killers. They're cruel. Lack a conscience.

Olivia meeting with him, which he knows she will, could be a trap. He wants to go with her, will insist on going with her. Or, at the very least, hire private security for her. Maybe he'll call Huck. All of these things are running through his mind when she plops down on the sofa next to him. Instinctively, he wraps his arm around her.

"Are you finished?"

"I am. What about you, Mr. President? What's weighing so heavily on your mind?"

"The same thing that's undoubtedly weighing on yours. I know why you saved him for last."

"I don't feel good about it, Fitz. It's something I have to do...for me...but..."

"Let me go with you. I'll have secret service-"

"No."

"Liv-"

"No. We still have to be very careful. You can't use government resources to protect me."

"Then I'll hire private security. Either I'm going, or private security. Your choice."

"Private security. And Huck. I'll make a few calls-"

"I'll do it. Let me take care of you this time."

Olivia returns to OPA refreshed. She steps off the elevator not quite sure what to expect, but is pleasantly surprised to see everyone working just as though she never left. Huck is in his office. Harrison, in his, twirling his phone. Abby and Quinn sitting in the conference room, working as a team.

"Where are we?" she asks with a wide smile. And with the sound of her voice, everyone jumps to attention, rushing from various corners of OPA toward her. "Conference room," she says as she heads toward her office, where she drops off her purse and coat.

When she enters the conference room, she can't help smiling at all of them. Her gladiators. They were fine without her. Thriving even.

Harrison is the first to speak. "We've locked in two primetime spots for tonight. We have experts lined up for the rest of the week. Oprah called. I told her we'd get back to her."

"You told Oprah you'd get back to her?"

"Yes, you said not to bother you with media requests."

"Right. Go on."

"Your personal approval ratings...well...they've been all over the place. Today, they could use a boost. We think you should do a couple of op eds. And...Oprah. We've come up with a "charm offensive" plan. Abby and Quinn were putting the finishing touches on it."

Abby jumps in, "You'll have it by the end of the day."

They all stare at her expectantly. Wanting her to say something about where she's been, how it went with her family, if she met them at all. "Good work, people. Really good. Huck, can I talk to you for a minute."

"Sure, Liv."

Huck follows Olivia out of the conference room and into her office. He closes the door behind them. She leans against the front of her desk and watches him, hands behind his back, serious expression, waiting for her to speak. "Rowan."

"Yes?"

"What aren't you telling me? And don't tell me nothing. Ever since I read your report, there's something that's been bothering me. A missing connection. Tell me what it is."

And there it is, his tell. A subtle shift in his stance. A quick glance to his right. She crosses her arms and waits. It's a stare down and she refuses to be the one to break.

He takes a deep breath. "I only follow orders."

"What are those orders, Huck. I won't be mad, I promise, just tell me the truth."

She makes her way around her desk and sits in her chair. It's going to be awhile. She turns on her computer and waits for it to boot up, every now and then glancing at Huck, who remains standing across the room.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him moving closer until he finally sits in the chair on the opposite side of her desk. She sees the tears in his eyes and steels herself for what he'll say next.

"Liv, you have to understand. It was my family. My wife. My baby. I loved them so much and B613, they don't care about any of that. They kill families. No witnesses, that's our motto. And I had a chance to save them. To save myself and I had to take it Liv."

"Huck, just tell me. Remember, I don't judge you. You don't judge me. That's how it works with us."

"My assignment is to protect you at all costs. He's had someone on you your whole life, but when you started working for the Grant campaign, and you were more public, he needed someone who could be closer to you."

"Why do I need protection?"

"Because of what he does. Because he has a lot of enemies and if anyone finds out you're his daughter, they may come after you to get to him. He said if I did this, he would make sure my family was safe. I could never see them again, but they're safe. He said since I was a father, I'd understand how important your safety was to him."

It's the last thing Olivia expected. Her relationship with Huck is built on a lie. She looks over at him and the pain in his eyes, and it breaks her heart. So she gets up and walks over to him, taking his hands in hers. "We're okay, Huck. It's still you and me. We're okay."

"I'm sorry, Liv. I'm sorry for hurting you."

"You haven't hurt me. You're protecting me. But I need you to do something."

"What?"

"Come with me when I meet him."

"Okay."

**Author's Note: I wrote this chapter well before last Thursday's mess of an episode. **


	23. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Olivia has always had a thing for the color white. It was Carolyn's favorite color, one she wore all the time and Olivia adopted her mother's style as her own. It was a way to connect and it seemed appropriate as Olivia was known as Carolyn's "shadow".

When she got older and learned a little more about life, white and its touted virtues, seemed more like a myth than anything else. Yet, she still clung, until recently, to the thought that somehow white absolved her of her sins. That by wearing it, she could preserve some of her goodness.

It was delusional thinking, really. She has committed many sins, illegal deeds even, so white became less important to her for what it represented. Instead, it was the color Fitz loved most on her. The way her skin seemed to glow when she wore it. He would say it was because when he saw her, he saw a halo, an angel who came into his life and saved him.

Every now and then though, when she's struggling with her personal demons, she goes back to virtuous white. White that is good. The constant quest to earn the absurd white hat. As she looks at the hat now, inside the cabinet in her office, she sees a spot of dirt. In ordinary times, even a week or so ago she would've sent it straight to the dry cleaner who would scrub and scrub until it was once again pristine. As she reaches out and takes it from the shelf, she smiles to herself thinking this is exactly how it's supposed to be. Nothing is completely good, completely pristine; life is supposed to be messy. It's how she responds that will determine the strength of her character.

So, she slips the hat back in the cabinet, turning it so the spot will be the first thing she sees. It'll remind her that being imperfect is just fine. She turns her attention to why she opened the cabinet in the first place. Her stash of black folders inside the combination safe.

Black is reserved for her emergencies. It's her panic button. If anything should happen, if she gets in a sticky situation, her team knows key is always in the black folder.

She takes just one and puts the rest back into the safe. She flips on the televisions for background noise, and for the distraction, activating the "closed captioning" feature while she methodically assembles the folder with the name "Rowan" written at the top. While she works, she periodically glances at the text on the different screens.

_Ms. Pope re-emerged from hiding today and returned to her office. She refused to comment on the President's press release this morning, informing the public that he and the First Lady are in fact, hammering out the final details of their divorce settlement._

_Civil rights icon, Jesse Jackson, said that had Ms. Pope been white, this story would've come and gone without much blowback._

_Conservative pundit, George Will, said this is a prime example of the deterioration of the American family and though Ms. Pope may be a nice woman, she has distracted the President and the nation, from the important agenda of advancing American causes. _

_American treasure, Dr. Maya Angelou has put it perhaps most elegantly, "Ms. Pope is the definition of class, dignity, power and most importantly, love. You see, the path toward love is not always easy or simple or right by the traditional sense, but when you find it, and it's rare, you must cling to it. It is clear to anyone with eyes that the President's marriage was in trouble long before Ms. Pope entered his life. And it is clear now that her presence in his life is as necessary to him as breath. So we should take a breath, step back, and think about how this affects our individual lives and the health of this nation. For if we do that, we will admit that this love has nothing to do with any of us."_

Olivia makes a mental note to send Dr. Angelou a thank you note. Her cell phone rings and she picks it up without checking the caller id.

"Liv." She rolls her eyes, expecting Cyrus to chastise her for her bad judgement, yet again.

"Cyrus. What's up?"

"Dr. Angelou? How'd you pull that off?"

"I had nothing to do with it."

"Well, a higher power must've been at work-"

"Are you turning into a believer?"

"Hell no, but I do allow for the possibility. It was brilliant."

"It was." Olivia motions for Huck to come in. He drops a new burner phone on her desk and she gives him the old one to destroy. She checks it quickly to make sure Fitz's number is programmed in and nods. Huck leaves, closing the door behind him.

"Ratings look like they've bottomed out."

"I know."

"I assume you're the one who told him to talk about race. This could backfire on us."

"It could. You know the racists, far right, homophobes and tea baggers are never going to vote for him no matter what. That leaves moderate republicans and they're not very happy with his social agenda. We're going to have to win women and minorities, but a significant margin. It's all going to come down to turnout and we have to give them a reason to vote for Fitz, not just vote against his opponent."

"If we do that, we're going to lose donor support-"

"So we'll make it up elsewhere. Cyrus, it's past time to have this conversation. We can't continue tip-toeing around it. Never waste a crisis. This is a teachable moment. This is the way to win re-election."

She can almost hear the wheels turning in his head. He's going to need time to digest it, to process all of the implications. To create his own pro/con list and eventually, he will come around. "Let's talk about happier things."

"Like?"

"Fitz divorcing Mellie. You have to be happy about that."

"I'm not going to talk about my personal life with you, Cy. I've learned that lesson again and again."

She looks up and see Huck standing outside of her office, staring at her. "Cy, I've got to go." She doesn't wait for him to respond before hanging up the phone. She motions for Huck to come inside. "What's up?"

"You're all set. He'll meet you at 2:00."

"Where?"

"In the open. By the coffee cart you like. I'll go now, check it out and I'll wait for you there. Harrison will drive you to the place."

"Are you sure there won't be any media?"

"It would be good if they were there with their cameras. Keep him in line."

"Good point. Thanks, Huck."

As much as she loves OPA, talking strategy with Cyrus is giving her newfound energy. It's a high. Then again, politics has always given her a bit of a high.

Re-election is coming up and this, politics, strategy, is where she excels. Yes, crisis management offers its own kind of high, but being on the road, with Fitz as a team, that is the highest high she can imagine. She has to remind herself that he doesn't want her help on this, not yet anyway.

As though reading her mind, her phone rings. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Read my mind?"

"We're one, Livvy."

"How are you?"

"I'm good. So, two o'clock?"

"How'd you know?"

"I have my sources."

"Security?"

"See, they're so good, you forgot they're there. Be careful."

"I will."

It's been a tough morning for him, she can tell. He needed to hear her voice, to soothe him, to let him know that at the end of the day, she is always there for him.

"Do you know what I really love about you?"

"What?"

"Your strength. Your conviction. No matter what, you always manage to do the right thing." He exhales heavily, closing his eyes at her words. It has been stressful. Mellie demanding more and more, then changing the terms of the agreement they've been working on, wasn't really a surprise, but seeing her in his bedroom was. It's been all downhill since then. He had to listen to and read about the continued character assassination of Olivia, which made him put a call into his good friend, Maya Angelou, who required none of his skills of persuasion. "How can I help?" Olivia asks, reaching for her purse, getting ready to go to him.

He wants to tell her to come to the White House, hold him, love him. He wants to pick her brain because he trusts her more than anyone. He wants to bounce all of his ideas off her. He can do none of those things, so, he lies, "You can't."

"I can, but you won't let me. And that's okay. I'm here if you need me."

"I always need you."

She looks at her watch. "As much as I'd like to continue whispering sweet nothings in your ear-"

"You never whisper anything in my ear. You scream and mo-"

"I'm well aware of what I do. Bye, Fitz."

"Bye."

From the conference room, Abby and Quinn observe Olivia. They've only seen one side of Olivia, the strong fixer who slayed any dragon that threatened her or her clients. This Olivia, the woman who smiles and laughs and is so open with her body language, is someone they don't recognize.

As they watched Olivia's conversation unfold, they know it's Him. Since she returned to OPA, she's seemed more at peace than ever. No stress. No worry. She's even let them handle her case the way they'd handle any other...without interference.

Abby rolls her eyes, which Quinn catches. "What's the problem?"

"Seriously? That man has taken her to hell and back and she's just sitting there smiling like nothing's wrong."

"Maybe nothing is wrong."

"Then why are we doing this?"

"Because she's our boss," says Harrison as he dumps some printouts in front of them. "And she needs our help."

Abby grabs the stack of paper and starts flipping through it, "Doesn't look like she's too concerned with her reputation at the moment."

"Abby, you have serious issues. I mean, really. Maybe you need to get laid or fall in love or something-"

"I was in love but Harrison put an end to that."

"Abby, I'm done apologizing for what I did. I'm a gladiator, I am her gladiator," pointing to Olivia, "and I answer to only her. If she asked me to, I'd do it again."

There's nothing but silence as they all try to cool their tempers. "What's going on?" No one answers Olivia, who stands in the doorway, hands on hips, waiting for a response. "Guys?"

They all mumble variations of the word, "Nothing."

"Right, well, okay. Harrison, this is for you," she gives him the black folder. "You know the deal."

"Yes. You ready?"

"Yes." She leads the way out of the building with Harrison trailing close behind, and behind them both, are two body guards.

"They're with you?"

"From now until." They exit the office building. The two burly bodyguards surround her, while Harrison does his best to shield her. There are only a couple of stray reporters left.

She and Harrison duck inside the waiting Lincoln Town Car and the driver takes off. "I'll ask you again, what is your endgame. Don't say the President, I already know that. But with this, all the research, reconnecting. What is it all for?"

"Do you know what my favorite movie is?"

"What?"

"Silence of the Lambs." Harrison's mouth drops wide open. "I know, it's a departure for me. But there's a line, Hannibal asks Clarice if the lambs have been silenced."

"I remember."

"My endgame is peace. That's all. Just peace."


	24. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

It is the longest car ride of Olivia's life. They pass the trees in slow motion. Traffic lights last forever. More time to think, to imagine, to worry. She leans her head against the window, letting the coolness wash over her as she tries to calm herself.

Harrison knows her well enough to give her the space she craves. Let her work things out in the silence, let her think, and when she's ready to share or speak, he'll be ready to listen. Until then, he sits silently next to her, not daring to even glance in her direction.

Harrison has known Olivia, it seems, for most of his life. She's always the person who gets things done. Who has all the answers. Who never makes him feel like he is any less than she, but that's who Olivia Pope is. She's so much more than the strong, crisis manager everyone sees. She's the caretaker, the nurturer, the most beautiful soul he's ever seen.

Was he surprised when he learned of her relationship with the President? Not really. The thing about Olivia is she is literally the smartest person in every room. She's the most dominent figure. Except, he imagines, in the Oval Office. Where, for once, there is someone more powerful, who can take care of her for a change; in the Oval Office, she can finally breathe. Yes, she has always been a woman of many secrets and someone as beautiful as she, whose entire soul radiates goodness, couldn't possibly be alone. She just needed to find someone on her level, or above, and with the President, she's found that match.

Ever since he learned of their relationship, when she was in the hospital and the President was visiting, he recalled her wild mood swings, her unwavering dedication to the Administration, her loyalty to the man she helped ascend to the most powerful position in the world. Those mornings when she seemed to walk on a cloud. Or the late nights when he'd see her in her office, head down, shoulders trembling from the sobs she tried to stifle. He's seen it all and now, it makes sense.

He is her Gladiator. And yes, there have been times when he's wanted to question her, or his dedication to her, but he never has. And this, whatever it is with her father and her family, he will be right by her side, willing to take a bullet for her if that's what it takes.

The fate of his boss doesn't concern him. Olivia is a survivor, a black woman in Washington who is the second most powerful person in the District and arguably, one of the most powerful people in the world, is proof of that. The fate of OPA does concern him.

She's never said she is leaving. She hasn't said much about OPA since she's become the story. But he can tell the passion has been diminished. Or maybe he's reading it wrong? Maybe it's not the passion that's diminished, maybe she's rearranged her priorities.

It makes sense. With the election coming up and the President running for re-election, surely she's going to join his campaign. If he wants to win, he'll let Olivia Pope work her magic behind the scenes. While he's been wondering how they're going to stay afloat during these lean times, focusing on the re-election and handling Fitzgerald Grant, solely, is their best bet in the short term. He takes a small notepad he carries in his inside breast pocket and makes a note to himself to pitch it to Olivia after this whole thing is over.

From the corner of her eye, Olivia watches Harrison. He's been a good friend to her. A great friend, actually. And what he's done in her absence, the PR campaign he crafted has been nothing short than amazing. She's a proud mama, watching the young Gladiator she raised become someone amazing. To be an outside-the-box thinker. To be loyal. A winner.

The thought crosses her mind that she can leave this behind. Leave this world, this business, this city behind. Everything has an expiration date and maybe her time in Washington has reached the point where she can do no more. Maybe it is time to move on, to find something else to do with her life. Money isn't an issue.

But there's Fitz. Her love. Her life. They've been through it. Surprisingly, they are stronger than ever. As in love as ever, if not more. And he is the reason she can't leave. Not again. Not ever again.

The car slows as they approach their destination. She takes a few deep breaths, moments to check her gut. To listen to it, run if it says to, stay if it is calm. It is silent and as the car slows to a stop and her car door opens, she is ready for whatever lies ahead.

Huck hasn't taken his eyes off the meeting space. Having already planned an escape route if necessary. His gun within his reach.

He's not alone in watching over her. There is the additional security that's been in place since she arrived at her office, and a bodyguard whom he assumes is private security hired by the President, but there's more. Secret Service did a sweep of the area. There is security all around, guys in nice suits, dark glasses, trying to blend in. Yet, the harder they try to melt into the background, the more obvious they are.

Olivia steps out of the car, flanked by Harrison on one side and her driver/bodyguard on the other. She stands a little taller as she gathers her momentum and heads for the coffee cart. There, she finds a tree to lean against, leaving only three sides of her body exposed to the possibility of a sniper.

She motions, with her head, for Harrison to sit on a nearby bench. Rather than follow him, she stays rooted in her place against the tree, looking for Rowan. She checks her gold Movado for the time and as soon as she looks up, there he is, startling her.

She looks him up and down, taken off guard by how quickly and quietly he moved. He watches her face, searches her eyes for something. Trying to read her, but she, trained as well as he to read people gives nothing away.

"Shall we?" He asks, offering his arm.

"I think we're fine right where are."

"Suit yourself," he says, dropping his arm to his side. "You wanted to see me?"

Olivia nods. "You know why. You've had eyes on me for years."

"Yes, and Huck's done an excellent job."

He tries to knock her off balance, but her face remains neutral. "Huck always does a good job. But we're not here to talk about him."

"So why are we here?"

"We are here because I want answers. I wanted to see my sperm donor face to face and ask you why in the hell you left me alone? I wanted to ask my sperm donor if he thought financial support was the beginning and end of his responsibility to a child he helped create? I wanted to ask my sperm donor if he hates me that much?"

"Olivia-"

"I'm not finished. I wanted to ask my sperm donor why his job was the most important thing in his life and how he could sit around and let the woman he supposedly loved be with another man why she just watched."

"I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree in that regard."

It's a direct hit in Olivia's heart, and that, that is what knocks her off balance. That is when she feels the lurch in her stomach and she wraps her arms around herself. Because it is true. For years, there's been only one thing she's wanted and she's done nothing but let it go. Time and time again, she loves him, then lets him go because of fear. Because of the guilt that comes with being with a man who is married. Whether it's simply in name only or something more, the fact remains he isn't hers, and she's walked in and out of his life as though his feelings are irrelevant. Like their love is something less deserving of their time and effort to nurture and cultivate.

"You're right. But there's a big difference. There's still time for me. You can't say the same."

"No, I can't. I made my choices and I don't regret them."

Quietly she asks, "Not even me?"

It's the vulnerability in her voice that gets to him. If he had raised her, he knows she would've been a daddy's girl. He would've spoiled her; given her whatever her heart desired. There would've been no scandal, no Fitz, because if he raised her, she still wouldn't be allowed to date. "I won't insult your intelligence. You know what I do. You know who I work for. And in my line of work, families aren't allowed. It was a choice I made that had nothing to do with self-preservation and had everything to do with keeping you and your mother safe."

Based on what she knows about Huck, his words ring true.

"No amount of money could or can make up for the pain I've caused you and I'm sorry, but it's the only thing I could do."

"They found out about us, didn't they?"

"Who?"

"B613, they found out about my mother and father?" When she read Huck's final report on the car accident that killed her parents, she could have cried. The stories she heard were never quite the same. Little details. When she tried to access the accident report, it was nowhere to be found. Always the sense that it didn't add up to an accident at all.

All he does is nod. She swears the hard blink long blink is to keep himself from crying. Because he still loved her. "They had to go because they were a perceived threat. And all threats, real or imagined, have to go. That's the nature of our business."

"The nature of your business. Yet, you stayed."

"Because if I didn't, you were next."

"I was supposed to be in that car, wasn't I? It was going to be three birds with one stone, but they were running late, so I got a ride with someone else." Her legs weaken under her; they can no longer support her weight, or the weight of her life. She sits on the ground and he joins her.

"You were. I knew then that I had to let go if you were ever to have a chance at a life."

"How could you work for them? Knowing what they did to my mother."

"Olivia, you of all people know we do what we have to do. Don't ever doubt that I loved your mother, and I love you, but I gave my life to B613, and once you do that, there's no going back."

"Huck?"

"Huck was the best we ever had. His IQ was off the charts. We've never seen anything like it. But, Huck, he was different. Most of us don't have a conscience. It's how we're able to do our job. No emotion."

"Sounds like sociopathic tendencies to me."

"It is. But Huck, he felt everything and we couldn't break him of his compassion. We couldn't strip him bare. We found out he had a family and protocol was to take them out. I couldn't do it. There was something about him-"

"His eyes."

"His eyes. I thought of a better assignment for him. In exchange for his life, I put him on you."

"There were others though? Before Huck?"

"I had someone on you through college, and grad school, but when you moved to New York, I scaled things back. Then, you started working for then Governor Grant and when your profile increased, I had to put someone on you. Someone who could get close."

Her gut tells her everything he's telling her is the truth. This is not the evil man she imagined. He's soulless anti-hero who loved country more than family. This is a man who made choices, right or wrong, that have essentially saved her life.

Just meeting him in this space, is putting her at risk. And him as well. Yet, he chose to do it for her. To give her some sort of closure. She knows this will likely be the one and only time they meet. It's too dangerous to hope for anything more.

It does give her closure. Gives her the answers she's craved for so long. She is not unworthy of love or attention or affection. Quite the contrary, in fact. She is worthy of those things and that is why the sacrifices have been made.

Her body feels lighter than it's felt in years as she stands, holding her head high. "This is it, isn't it?"

"It's too dangerous for it to be anything other than goodbye."

"If I need to talk to you?"

"Huck knows how to reach me."

"I understand." She waits a moment, thinking maybe she should shake his hand or even hug him. Not because she loves him, but because he has given her something that is so precious to her. He's given her the truth about her life. Closed a chapter that's haunted her for as long as she can remember. Instead she nods and walks away, followed by Harrison. Followed by security. And gets into a car with a driver.

Rowan watches it unfold and he is proud. She is who she is not because of him, but in spite of him and her demons. He smirks. She is the best parts of him and Carolyn . And he loves her. Loves her enough to let her go. But she will be fine because she is Olivia Pope.


End file.
